Think We Are
by Gecko Osco
Summary: We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did *was* wrong. But we think you're crazy to make an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us...a Hetalia/Breakfast Club fusion.
1. Scene One

Fic: Think We Are (1/8)  
Genre: humor, angst of the teenage variety, pining, the usual High School Tropes  
Pairings: USUK, Prussia/Hungary, Japan/Taiwan (brief)  
Rating: M  
Warnings: Language to the max, sex/crude language, potentially offensive POVs and nicknames, past character deaths (noncanon), bullying, brief 'slut shaming,' passing mentions of drug abuse, and teenagers(because they need their own warning).  
Summary:We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did *was* we think you're crazy to make an essay telling you who we **think we are**. You see us as you want to see us...

* * *

Scene One

"_I'm being honest, asshole. I would expect you to know the difference."_ – John Bender, _The Breakfast Club_ (1985)

Alfred still couldn't believe this was happening. Sure, he could remember all the whys and the hows of what had happened to lead up to this morning, but he honestly still couldn't believe he let himself do it. He didn't even fucking_ like_ Ivan Braginski and didn't give a shit that he was their best defensive tackle and that meant that he and Alfred were supposed to be the best of friends according to high school law. And yet somehow, he was here because he had listened to the dick. Because he'd wanted to look cool and show everyone else that he was better than him—that he wasn't about to let that asshead call him out in front of the rest of the football team. And now he was stuck in some lame ass Saturday detention. Detention that was going to last for eight fucking hours—Alfred was pretty sure something about that was illegal, but his parents had agreed to it and so here he was.

He stared out forlornly (hahaha, screw you English teacher, he could use fancy vocab words) from his dad's passenger seat window and tried to drown out the lecture he was getting about screwing up his chances at college ball and how his mom was so disappointed in him and how bad of an example he was setting for Matthew. It was pointless, he heard everything and got a nice big ball of guilt in his stomach (more than what he already had) to show for it, but it seemed to piss his dad off that he looked like he wasn't listening so that was kind of a victory. In like a really depressing, sad sort of way.

Alfred got along pretty well with his parents, at least as well as any healthy, red-blooded seventeen year-old guy could, but that didn't mean he liked it when they started lecturing him. Even if he'd done something worth lecturing—he was supposed to screw up and stuff. High school was the prime time to do that; having someone else's future for him consistently battered against his head again and again made him want to punch something. Figuratively because, well, he was already in detention as it was and he really didn't want any return visits. Like ever—he could do suicides or something but all day detention, _Saturday detention_? Never again.

"Alfred, are you listening to me?" Alfred let out a breath and looked over at his dad, at the familiar frown and disappointment that seemed to accompany every look his dad gave him these days. He resisted the urge to grin, because history told him that would not be a good idea, and tried to adopt an expression that looked like it had been paying attention. Based on how his dad's face drew tighter and more pinched, he didn't succeed. "Just—just go, Alfred. Try to actually think about why you're here so this never happens again. And phone."

"Um, what?"

"Give me your phone. You're not going to spend the next eight hours texting people and looking at videos on the internet." Oh, so not cool.

"But, what if I need—"

"We know when your detention is over, and if you need anything that's urgent, you can call from the school. Now give." Alfred glared and fished out his phone for his dad. Great—now he was _really_ going to be bored out of his mind. His dad set his phone in his console and looked pointedly at the door. Alfred groaned, but spilled out of the car, giving his dad a fake thumbs-up for good measure before he drove off. Alfred looked up at sky and, again, silently asked why he had been such a complete idiot and gotten himself stuck here. As he expected, there was no response, so after a few moments of self-pity (he was seventeen, it was required from him) he refocused back on his very unfortunate Saturday and shouldered his bag before heading into the school.

As he started to head inside, he slowed his steps and watched as some of his fellow, doomed students trudge out of their parent's car (a humiliating punishment in and of itself, having your car taken away and having your parents actually _drive_ you places). From the looks of it, there were only going to be four of them stuck in the library for detention.

Elizaveta Hedervary he knew and he knew well. She was the president of the prom committee, student council vice-president, a co-chair on the activities committee, and all around social butterfly-slash-maniacal queen bee. She was nice enough if you could get her one-on-one, but if she was with all the rest of her henchmen (they were sort of like all the thieves that flocked around Catwoman) odds were she would end up insulting you in some creative way. He'd once seen her reduce a freshman to tears with nothing but a sharpie and an overly-polite good-bye. Alfred hadn't really like her, but for some stupid athlete-cheerleader bonding exercise, they'd been paired together and instead of hooking up (he may have had a freak-out and admitted that he was probably gay, or at least bi, and sex kind of freaked him out as much as it enticed him…she had just nodded and hadn't mentioned a word about it since) they'd actually talked and he'd found out she wasn't such a bitch all the time. Or at all—well, no she was, but not as bad of one.

Appearances and shit—they sucked.

She looked put out and was rejecting any and all of her mom's attempts to comfort her. She ended up flouncing out of the car and walking into the school without a backwards glance, her back straight and her hips moving in time with her steps in that special way of hers she'd confessed she'd learned how to do in sixth grade.

Next, Alfred's eyes focused on Kiku Honda. Probably his class's valedictorian. And salutatorian. And whatever other smart title they gave out to students because Alfred was pretty sure Kiku would end up having them all someway. He was surprised to see him there because, as far as he knew, Kiku was physically unable to break a rule. Literally. Alfred swore up and down that he once saw him adjust his car about six or seven times in the parking lot because his car was too close to either one of the lines. But, here he was, looking completely ashamed and taking all the yelling his mom had to give him before getting out of the car. He caught Alfred's eye and nodded politely at him before heading inside, head down and fists curled up at his sides.

Alfred liked Kiku, but they weren't friends, not like they were when they were kids. They couldn't be, not with the social caste system (and take that history teacher, he so did pay attention!) high school liked to slot everyone into the moment they stepped onto campus as freshmen. He'd tried that first year, but it got too hard, for both of them, and eventually they just sort of…dissolved. He watched after Kiku even after he was already inside until their third and final comrade in arms came stumbling out of a car and up the steps. Alfred couldn't help but cringe a little.

Gilbert Beilschmidt. Oh fucking Christ, Gilbert Beilschmidt.

Now, Gilbert, Alfred was not surprised to see at Saturday detention. He'd pulled the fire alarm that Tuesday at a pep rally and then promptly streaked through the auditorium with a torch made of what had looked like wood and Styrofoam cups. He was Hetalia Academy's resident basket-case and really enjoyed his title. Alfred was still surprised he hadn't been expelled yet, but he guessed that having wealthy alumni as parents, and a brother who was likely going to be an all-state track champion went a long way with the school board. Gilbert, with his weirdly dyed white hair and the red contacts he wore that made him look even stranger, smiled at him and whistled as he walked into the school. Alfred shook his head and followed suit, figuring that the day wasn't going to suck any less if he kept putting it off.

He made his way to the library and noticed that most everyone else had already taken a seat, each at a separate table and not looking at each other. Well, Gilbert was already carving something into his desk, so he didn't really count. Alfred set his stuff down at the same table as Elizaveta and looked at her. "Mind if I sit here, Liz?"

She shrugged and twirled her hair, staring off into space and tapping her nails against the desk. He rolled his eyes and sat down despite the lack of response; he glanced over at Kiku, who was staring at his desk and apparently happy with that. He did not look back at Gilbert and shrugged off his coat, trying not to think about how sore his ass was going to be after eight hours of sitting in the stupid library chairs. The door to the library opened again and Alfred slinked down as Mr. Germania came striding in, looking especially stern and put-out—Alfred guessed he'd be pretty pissed if he had to monitor Saturday detention too. But so was the life of a deputy headmaster.

"Well, here we are. Or, most of us at least." Alfred tilted his head to the side at Germania's comment, wondering what he meant by 'most,' but the door slammed open again and Alfred felt his heart drop into his stomach. Shit—that's what he meant then. "Ah, I see Mr. Kirkland has finally decided to grace us with his presence. Put the cigarette out, Mr. Kirkland, and take a seat."

Arthur Kirkland was something of a legend around campus, and rightfully so—he was probably second behind Kiku in grades and still managed to have one of the most decorated discipline files in the school's history. Gilbert may have had the crazy title but Arthur—well, he was rumored to be one shoplifting charge away from jail but could still recite Shakespeare in perfect rhythm and construct all twenty-one amino acids that synthesized protein from memory. Alfred slinked lower into his chair and tried to look as unnoticeable as possible, which was kind of pointless since he'd decided to sit in the front row. Hell, he'd try though; the last thing he wanted to add onto the suckitude that was today was for Arthur Kirkland to notice him and decide to make his day even worse.

Arthur's hair was a mess of natural blond, green, and black and piled on top of his head in a way a lot of people tried to imitate to get that rough-and-dirty look. Alfred knew that was just how Arthur's hair was. His ears were pierced from shell to earlobe and he had a ring in his eyebrow; he used to have one in his nose, but it wasn't in there now. His clothes were kind of neat, in a ripped-up, grungy-punk kind of way, and he had black boots on that looked like they were specifically made to kick people's asses in. He was on the thin side, and just a hair shorter than Alfred himself, but that didn't mean that he didn't intimidate the shit out of Alfred. Not that he tried to let that show because, come on, he wasn't a wuss but—Arthur Kirkland was scary when he wanted to be and being smaller than most of the guys on the football team didn't change that fact.

Arthur glanced over at the deputy headmaster as he took a long drag of his cigarette; he blew out the smoke and then raised his impressive brow (seriously, his eyebrows alone could probably beat people into submission) and stubbed the cigarette out on the librarian's front desk. He smiled and whistled as he went to take a seat, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Alfred; his smile morphed into a smirk and he brushed past to sit in the chair directly behind Alfred. Great. He could smell Arthur a little too well now that he was sitting behind him; he smelled like smoke and mint, probably from toothpaste, with a little bit of just Arthur mixed in. It smelled—Alfred really shouldn't be thinking about how Arthur smelled because it was bad enough he was practically a closeted bisexual jock (at school at least—his family was surprisingly cool with it), he really didn't need to throw into the mix that he might have been a little bit in-lust-slash-maybe love with the resident criminal.

"Golden Boy, what an unexpected surprise." It also wasn't fair that Arthur was English and this accent that just dripped sex—Alfred crossed his arms tighter across his chest and slouched low enough that he was almost laying down on his chair.

"Mr. Kirkland, I'll add destroying school property to the growing list of reasons why you'll be joining us again next Saturday." Germania looked like a vein was about to pop in his head, and Alfred didn't need to look behind him to know that Arthur was still smirking. He heard Elizaveta huff in annoyance and she shot a disgusted look back at Arthur before turning to face Germania again. "Now that we're all in attendance, let me explain how things are going to go today. You will be in detention from now until four and during that time, you will all reflect about the sort of person you would like to be, the sort of person you would like to represent from this academy. I hope, for most of you, this will be the last time you attend this detention—there will be a half hour break for lunch at noon and absolutely no talking, texting, or sleeping, or desecrating school property," he walked past Gilbert and yanked his pen out of his hand at that, "during this time. You will not move from these spots, am I clear?"

There were mumbled half-answers from everyone but Arthur, who remained silent, and Gilbert who saluted mockingly and gave an enthusiastic 'yessir!' Germania looked satisfied enough with the response and continued, handing out blank slips of notebook paper and pens to everyone as he talked. "Headmistress Athena requested that we do something a little different today—you each will hand-write an essay telling me who you think you are and why the actions you each took to land yourself here will never happen again. I expect at least a full page by the end of the day."

"Um, excuse me, Mr. Germania, but I think there's been some sort of mistake. I understand that skipping my fifth period class to go shopping was wrong, but I was shopping for the prom committee and hardly think that my punishment warrants I be stuck here with all these—" Elizaveta started before Germania froze the rest of her words up with a glare.

"This door," he pointed at the double library doors, "stays open. I'll be right across the hall, so I expect you all to stay in your seats." He glared at them all one last time before he strode away and into some office across the hall.

Alfred played with his pen and stared down at the blank piece of paper—hand writing a paper would suck. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had to do that that wasn't in grade school—his hand always ended up cramping and then it was a pain in the ass come next football practice, which lucky for him, was tomorrow morning. He heard Gilbert chuckle and turned around see what he found funny; apparently Gilbert was good at origami, as long as it involved shaping the paper into naked women. Kiku was tapping his pen against the desk and staring intently at the blank paper in front of him—Arthur was smirking and staring right at him. Alfred felt his face flush and he glared before turning around.

"So, I'm curious, what exactly did Hetalia Academy's star quarterback do to get stuck here in detention with us mere peons?" Arthur drawled. Alfred scowled at his desk and struggled not to rise to the bait. "I'm surprised you're even here—must have done something particularly heinous to end up in here and not let off with a slap of the wrist."

"Would you just be quiet? Obviously, he doesn't want to talk about it." Elizaveta defending him was not really what he wanted so he scowled over at her.

"Love, don't you know it's rude to interject yourself into someone else's conversation? I expected someone of your status to at least recognize basic manners, but I suppose money really doesn't buy everything." Alfred turned and scowled at him then because, dude, rude. This right here was exactly why he didn't want to be either attracted and slash or possibly in love with Arthur Kirkland because he could be a raging douche sometimes.

Elizaveta inhaled sharply and her perfectly manicured nails tried to dig into the wood of the desk. "Well, I hardly think _you_ of all people should be lecturing anyone on manners!"

"Tell me, Golden Boy," Arthur started. His eyes were focused and dark on Alfred, a little too mean than Alfred would have liked because it reminded him how much Arthur had changed and he hated that. "Are you going to let your bitch fight all your battles? I understand that fucking one another probably built some sort of twisted friendship between you two, but honestly? This is a bit pathetic."

"Shut up, you asshole!"

"Don't call her a bitch, you dick!" Ok, not his best comeback but Elizaveta was sort of defending him and that was nice.

"Um-excuse me?" Kiku's voice was soft and barely drew anyone's attention. "The deputy headmaster said we weren't supposed to talk so I really don't think all this fighting is—"

"Whatever, Kirkland; you're just some nobody who's one step away from prison and are taking out how pitiful your life is out on us because, unlike you, people actually can stand to be around us! So, why don't you just shut up your offensive mouth and go back to combing those deplorable excuses for eyebrows so they look somewhat normal." Elizaveta flipped her hair and smiled sweetly at Arthur. He kept on smirking, but Alfred knew his face well enough to know what she'd said had struck a nerve. Probably more so the eyebrow comment than the stuff about people liking them (which wasn't really true because people never really liked the popular kids).

"If you think people actually like you, you're more deluded than I initially thought."

"I like her." Everyone turned to stare at Gilbert, who was making his origami girl pose in sex positions. He looked up and smiled dirtily at Elizaveta. "She's got great tits."

"Shut up!"

"Don't talk about her boobs, jackass!"

"Really, everyone, we shouldn't be talking…"

"Hey!" Everyone turned around and tried to look quiet (Elizaveta looked about ten shades of purple though…so yeah, kind of fail there) as Germania stormed back in, eyes narrowed and vein popping in his forehead. "Is there a part of 'stay quiet and reflect on your actions' that you don't understand?"

"No sir."

"Of course not, Mr. Germania."

"Umm, no?"

"Well—"

"I don't want to hear anything from you, Mr. Beilschmidt. If I hear another sound, I'll make sure each of you is back here next week, is that understood?" Alfred mumbled out a 'yes sir' along with Elizaveta and Kiku; Germania glared at them one more time and then headed back towards his office. He blew out a nervous breath and turned to glare at Gilbert, pointedly not looking at Arthur and his stupid face or his stupid smirk.

"You talk about Liz like that again, or do anything to land us back in this shit next week, and I'll hit you so hard you'll be drooling on the floor, buddy." Gilbert flipped him off but didn't say anything in retaliation. Arthur chuckled and he couldn't help but get drawn back into his stare. "What?"

"Nothing…you're just very concerned about your fair lady, is all."

"She's not my lady, I'm just not a dick like you or Gil."

"Oh, is that so? So then, if you're such an upstanding gentleman, how about you share with the class exactly why you're here today?" Arthur smiled meanly at him and it made Alfred's gut twist unpleasantly as he remembered how different that smile used to be. He really didn't like thinking about that, about how different Arthur used to be, how much happier he'd been, when they were kids and before his parents died. Alfred had liked the Kirklands too—he clenched his fist and forced all the crap down because he was not going to start pitying Arthur when he was being such a tool.

"Why don't you tell us why you're here, dickweed?"

"Oh clever use of insults there."

"Please, we really shouldn't be talking." Kiku tried again. This time, he got Arthur's attention.

"I'm sorry, are you saying you'd rather actually sit here for eight hours and brood over whatever it was we all did wrong?"

Kiku, obviously not used to being under the full force of Arthur's attention, struggled to respond; luckily for him, Elizaveta never had a problem talking. "What he's saying is maybe it's time you stopped being such an insufferable prick and shut up, so some of us don't get stuck back here next week. I'm sure you'd be glad of that, wouldn't you? It'd just be you, Gilly, and your usual miscreants in here."

"Call me Gilly again, princess, and we'll see how glad we'd all be."

"You're revolting."

"Not the worst I've been called, tits."

Arthur scoffed and got up from his seat, walking over towards the library doors without a care to who could see him; everyone stared at him for a silent second before hissing at him to get back in his seat. He turned around, waved at them mockingly, and did something with the door that caused it to slam shut; Alfred watched as he slipped something that looked like a metal key into his pants and tried not to stare at the sliver of skin he showed as his shirt rose up in the motion (he did try _really_ hard not to…). He walked back to his seat and sat down just as they all heard Germania yell and come storming back in. Arthur relaxed back against his chair while everyone else tensed up and Germania honed in on that right off the bat.

"Kirkland, what did you do to that door?"

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"You heard me!" The deputy headmaster was starting to get a little bit purple as he yelled at Arthur, who looked like he gave absolutely zero fucks. He probably didn't give any fucks. "What happened to this door, Kirkland?"

"Are you suggesting that I had anything to do with that? Sir, you told us not to move from our seats, I may not be the best in physics for my year, but even I know it's impossible to disable a door that is pressure weighted and easily three hundred pounds qithout some sort of tool." Alfred tried hard not to laugh, but it was funny so he did. Arthur caught his eye, a less confrontational look on his face that made Alfred feel stupidly warm, but then Germania was glaring at him too and that sucked.

"You find this funny, Jones?"

"Well, he is a little guy, sir. And we've just been sitting here—I don't know, the door just sort of shut." Elizaveta's eyes widened and she chimed in because, honestly, if they were stuck here all day, it would be a lot better if they could move around without the deputy headmaster being able to watch them.

"Uh, yeah! It just slammed shut, Mr. Germania." Gilbert and Kiku agreed (although Kiku looked like he was doing so against his conscious) with them and Germania started to look purpler. He stomped over to the door and tried to get it to stay open again, but whatever Arthur had taken out when he screwed with the door, was obviously needed to keep it open. He grabbed a chair and tried propping it open, but the door was too heavy and it slammed shut again; he tried that same idea with two, then three chairs, and the door slammed shut every time. He heard Germania curse and he had to stifle his giggles behind his hand because seriously? A teacher swearing was the funniest shit ever.

Eventually, Germania came back in and frowned at all of them, but at Arthur most. "You think you're clever, don't you Kirkland?"

"Yes, but please don't feel like you must compare yourself to me; I'd imagine it would get rather depressing if you had to line us up side-by-side." Arthur's tone was as mild as his face, but his eyes—they were angry and staring up at Germania like he was the scum on his shoe.

"Oh yes, depressing is a fitting word—I can't imagine how being compared to a useless waste of a student who's never going to be anything beyond these walls would be upsetting for me." Wow—well that was, pretty damn harsh. Alfred was actually pretty sure teachers couldn't talk to student that way, even if they'd been insulted first. Everyone stared at the pair of them, and if possible, Arthur's eyes burned a little bit brighter with hatred for Germania. "I look forward to seeing you in these detentions for the next month, Mr. Kirkland. And as for the rest of you, the door may be shut, but that doesn't mean that if I find any of you out of your seat when I check in, you'll be looking at a space alongside Mr. Kirkland in detention next week."

And, with that, he left, the library door slamming shut behind him, leaving the five of them alone and essentially unsupervised. Alfred looked over at Arthur, at how tense his arms were and how stiff his neck was—a part of him wanted to reach out and try to say something, but he knew anything he said would get thrown back in his face. Elizaveta was quiet and staring at Arthur along with Kiku, while Gilbert had leaned back and kicked his feet up on the table with glee.

Arthur stared at the closed door for a minute longer and then he smiled and cocked his brow at the rest of them. "Well, I guess the real fun can start now, can't it?"

End Scene

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A Hetalia/Breakfast Club fusion I have been writing furiously for the past two weeks. Probably one of the more honest and slightly-darker things I've written, but I really like the tone of this. Will be updated once-twice a week. Enjoy, and drop a review if you care to let me know what you thought.


	2. Scene Two

Fic: Think We Are (2/8)  
Genre: humor, angst of the teenage variety, pining, the usual High School Tropes  
Pairings: USUK, Prussia/Hungary, Japan/Taiwan (brief)  
Rating: M  
Warnings: Language to the max, sex/crude language, potentially offensive POVs and nicknames, past character deaths (noncanon), bullying, brief 'slut shaming,' passing mentions of drug abuse, and teenagers(because they need their own warning).  
Summary:We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did *was* we think you're crazy to make an essay telling you who we **thinkwe are**. You see us as you want to see us...

Note: The Hetalia/Breakfast Club fusion everyone wanted apparently! Enjoy, and drop a line if you care to let me know what you thought.

* * *

Think We Are

Scene Two

"_You're an idiot anyway. But if you say you get along with your parents, well, you're a liar too."_ – John Bender, _The Breakfast Club _(1985)

_**A Snippet of Elizaveta**_

_She hated it, being popular. Well, now that wasn't completely right because most times she didn't. _

_Being popular meant that everyone, whether it was true or not, had to make like they loved you. Or, keep up the pretense and really, that was all she hoped for because teenagers are the most hurtful, poisonous, back-stabbing generation of them all, and that's including lawyers. _

_But, there were moments when she was so tired of everything. When she wanted to be able to wear sweatpants to school and sleep in instead of doing her make-up. When she wanted to eat that double bacon cheeseburger because it smells fucking amazing and living off of Crystal Light and crackers just doesn't quite seem worth it to wear that size two dress in her closet. When she wanted to admit that she likes comic books because her dad read them to her when she was younger and it's one thing they both still have in common. When she's so bone-deep tired of dating pompous jerks like Roderich or Sadiq or Francis and just wanted to date someone who made her laugh and wouldn't mind seeing her in the aforementioned sweatpants._

_Elizaveta had so much, but lately, the baggage that came with everything just wasn't worth the hassle._

_Staring across the way at Gilbert, at Kiku, even at Arthur, who she knew was fucked up three ways to Sunday because of his parents, she envied them, their freedom of not having to be perfect all the time, not like her. She wished she could have laughed at Gilbert when he called her 'tits,' or messed up the door like Arthur, or try to speak up for them to just all shut up like Kiku. But she couldn't, not really, not even here._

_God, she should have just ignored that stupid taffeta sale at JoAnns—she wanted to be anywhere else but there._

* * *

Arthur grinned at everyone and tried to push down the overwhelming hatred he held for Germania because he did not need four strangers (and yes, Alfred was a bloody stranger to him now—they barely even spoke the same language anymore) to see how badly that pisser's words and disdain affected him. Because he wasn't nothing. He was something, even if that something was a constant thorn in the faculty's side because he didn't fit into any of their neat little boxes as to what they all thought he should be. He wasn't the poor, tragic little orphan who was a genius and would make his dead parents proud. He wasn't the doped up drug addict who needed to be saved. He wasn't even really a criminal, no matter how much they may have wanted to force him into that box. They hated him because they couldn't define him, and he'd be lying if that fact didn't both thrill and disappoint him.

He tried not to look too much at Alfred as he glanced around the room because whenever he looked at Alfred, he got mad and confused and he felt like his skin was too brittle or easier to break. It was safer to think of Alfred as the stuck-up, callous jock instead of what he remembered Alfred as (who he probably still was underneath all of the pomp and circumstance he paraded around at school). If he was 'Golden Boy' and not 'Alfie,' Arthur didn't have to feel bad about trying to hate him. He didn't have to feel as wretched as he generally felt about not being able to let go of a childhood crush that should've died back with the rest of his former life.

It was hard to ignore him though—his eyes naturally gravitated towards Alfred and it was so easy to rile him up.

"I'm sorry, but what fun? In case you forgot, because you're in here so much of the time anyway, we're still in detention." He looked over and glared at Elizaveta; they were few people he genuinely detested at school apart from the faculty, but Elizaveta Hedervary was one of them.

"Your powers of deduction notwithstanding, prom queen, the door to the library is in fact closed, meaning I'll be arsed if Germania is actually going to be checking over here at all and we are free to do something more than ponder about the error of our ways. Of course, if you'd rather sit down and stare at the desk until drool starts pooling out of your mouth, feel free." Arthur pushed up from his desk and headed over to where there was a rack of magazines. The librarian had a soft spot for him (Arthur will never know why…he once rearranged her entire history section by order of book size) and usually kept the TIME and Newsweek magazines hidden behind the National Geographic magazines for him. Instead of returning back to the desk with his spoils, he hopped up over the librarian's front desk and sat down in her much more comfortable rolling chair.

"Hey, does Miss Fatso keep any good snacks back there?" Arthur scowled up at Gilbert's manic grin and turned back to his magazine.

"Her name is Miss Fasso and no she doesn't. Back on the bandwagon this week. Even if she wasn't, I wouldn't give _you_ any of her food, you cretin." He flipped a page in his magazine and pointedly ignored Gilbert's whining as he draped himself over the front desk. A glance out back towards the library told him the others were all still in their seats, but Alfred and Elizaveta were chatting now. He huffed and went back to his magazine and told himself he was being an idiot for getting upset about two people who could have had less in common with chatting. He could hear snippets between them though, even with Gilbert aimlessly flipping through the library catalog index (he'd long since grown used to tuning Gilbert out—it was how their not-a-friendship-friendship thrived). Talks of a party and whether they were going to go; Arthur frowned and read the same sentence in his article about four times before he eventually grew frustrated and set it down.

"…divorce could be imminent. You know, I'm only here because my mom didn't want me to go and my dad wanted to use me against my mom. I am getting so sick of their squabbling." He heard the annoyance in her voice and it rankled him, hearing her talk about her parents like that. So many stupid teenagers took their parents for granted, it was sick. He hopped onto the desk and cocked his head at her.

"If you had to choose one, who would it be?" She looked up at him and felt a sense of delight that she didn't quite make the connection of what she was about to get into and with who. Alfred did—his eyes widened and he tried to tap Elizaveta and talk about the party again.

"I'm sorry, what are you spewing about?"

"If you had to pick one, which would you pick? Who do you like better, your mum or your dad?" Her eyes went a little wide, as if she had never been asked such a question before. "Divorce can be messy and I'm sure a custody battle would ensue between them, but you're old enough to decide who to live with so, who would you choose?"

"What kind of question is that? I can't choose between my parents that's—they're both just so involved with themselves they don't even see what all their fighting is doing to m-all of us." She looked at him, offended, and he leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees.

"It's a completely valid question; it's probably just one you don't want to think about. But, here's a thought, if you can't pick one of them over the other, you could always just imagine what life might be like without them. There, no more fighting that bothers you." Her face paled and he grinned a little; she understood what he was on about now.

"That's not what she was saying, Arth-Kirkland!"

"No," Gilbert drawled. He abandoned the library catalogue and hopped up onto the desk Elizaveta and Alfred were sitting at. "She's just feeling sorry for herself and wants to have a little pity-party. Princess, that's the last fucking thing you're going to get here."

"I wasn't—" She took a deep breath and when she came back to herself, any trace of the uncertainty and regret he'd seen before was gone. "I'm sorry if I said anything that upset you, Kirkland, but maybe you shouldn't butt your nose into someone else's conversation. And get off the damn desk, Gilbert!"

"It's a free country, Lizzie, and I may rest my supple buttocks where I desire." She smacked at him with her purse and he threw his head back and laughed. "Now, I can understand that you're all sadpants over your parents arguing over what yacht to buy and who would get the Aspen home in the divorce, but please try to remember a couple of key things before spouting off about how 'hard' things are for you. Numero one: Kirkland over there is an orphan, so no matter what complaint you have against your parents, he will always win every argument on the subject by default. Numero two: commoners like Jones and Honda don't have yachts and Aspen homes so talking about that shit probably makes them feel inferior, which I know gets your juices goin' but it's really a dick move. And numero three: at least your parents love you enough to value you as a real bargaining chip, instead of ignoring you as the first try fuck-up."

He grinned at her stupefied face and hopped off the desk, making his way towards his usual perch in the back. Arthur smiled at her a little bit wider, a little bit meaner, and started to clap in honor of Gilbert's speech. She glared at him and he started to laugh, just a little, just enough to annoy her.

"You know, he kind of has a point." Arthur stopped laughing and stared at Alfred, a little surprised himself that those words had just been uttered.

"Alfred!"

"What? I'm sorry Liz, but come on, compared to those two, your parent issues really aren't that bad—besides, maybe they just like to argue, you know? Some couples are like that."

"I am sorry for your troubles at home, Elizaveta," Kiku chimed in. Arthur rolled his eyes and flopped back so that he was staring up at the library's ceiling from the front desk. "I can assure you, I did not feel at all during your confessions that you were flaunting your wealth in either mine or Alfred's face."

"Yeah…what Kiku said. You know, you don't have to be so polite and junk. We're like seventeen, I think the only one who cares about manners is Art-Kirkland and you can just ignore him."

He felt annoyance lick up his spine again and he sat back up. "And what about you, Golden Boy? Do you get along with your parents?"

Alfred glared at him. "I guess, for the most part. What, does that make me lame or dumb for saying so?"

"You were dumb before. Just trying to determine now if you're a liar as well."

"So, you gave Liz shit because she complained about her parents and now you're giving me shit because I'm not?" Alfred looked mad, madder than he'd been with Arthur so far that morning, and it felt good, safe. Familiar and not the unsettling, dangerous pull towards Alfred he'd felt since the moment he'd sat down behind him.

"People our age never get along with their parents, and if they say they do, they're either deluded or lying. So which are you: deluded or a liar?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, so you're saying that that's how you would be if your parents were here? You'd be a dick to them too?" Arthur could see that Alfred regretted saying the words the minute they were out, and strangely, that made him madder than the fact that he'd actually said them.

"Well, my parents are dead so I guess we'll never know, unless you secretly dabble in necromancy and have something you need to share with the class."

"And buzz effectively killed; Christ, I don't know whether I want to bet on you guys killing or fucking each other by the time the day's over, but you're getting ridiculous." Arthur flushed at Gilbert's words, and the only thing that kept him from getting up and strangling the psycho was that Alfred was blushing too. And that was too confusing for Arthur to even go near at the moment. "Can we talk about something other than dead parents? Say, for instance, why this guy doesn't seem to know how to talk?"

Kiku frowned at Gilbert and sat up a little straighter in his chair, the only indication that he was at all bothered by Gilbert's mocking tone. "I have been speaking, even if we're not meant to. I'm not about to shout to make myself heard."

"Ah, so you enjoy being ignored then?"

"I don't—"

"Well, since I don't think you can take the tone of the conversation down a dark and morbid path, want to tell us how you and your folks get along? Do you all gossip over rice balls and bond over pictures?"

"That's incredibly racist, you ass." Elizaveta glared at him.

"Yeah, Japanese people totally do more stuff together than that!" Oh, Alfred—Arthur would find him endearing if he wasn't so busy trying to hate him.

"I appreciate your candor, Gilbert, but my family has lived in America for the past three generations—usually we just eat Taco Bell." Kiku smiled, a small and gossamer grin that everyone up short and then had them laughing a little in kind. Arthur even chuckled because honestly, Kiku eating Taco Bell? He doubted that was the Honda dinner of choice for family night.

The mood lightened a little and it was strange how not strange it was—just moments before they'd been attacking each other in turn and now they were laughing as if they really were all friends and sharing an inside joke. Elizaveta looked different when she laughed, and not the shrill, mean-spirited laugh he was used to—her smile was genuine and it made her look younger, better. Kiku relaxed his shoulders and had actually put his pen down on the desk; Gilbert was laughing so hard he was crying a little and Arthur could honestly say he had never seen him look so amused. And Alfred. He looked the same, which wasn't a surprise because he was always big smiles and ready laughs but this time, it didn't hurt Arthur to see it, to see him. Alfred looked at him, caught his eyes, and his smile softened a little; Arthur ducked his head away.

The laughter started to dry up and they all ducked their heads from each other eventually—no one said anything, not even Gilbert, for fear of breaking whatever steady truce they'd brokered in that moment. At least, that's why Arthur stayed quiet—he may be good at insulting everyone near him, but that didn't mean it wasn't exhausting and that it didn't leave him feeling as if his parents would be ashamed of him if they could see him now. Arthur grabbed his magazines and walked back towards his desk; he didn't look at Alfred and sat behind Elizaveta this time instead. Kiku turned back to his blank paper and started to write down whatever essay he'd decided would best satisfy the headmistress's exercise and Gilbert stared at the ceiling until his eyes slipped shut. Alfred didn't do anything, but out of the corner of his eye, Arthur could see he kept turning his body just so, as if he was trying to glance back at Arthur.

The whole thing between Alfred and him was such a jumbled mess that it was hard for Arthur to figure out when exactly he'd gone from his best friend to his most scorned person. Intuitively, he knew that a lot of it had to do with how he'd reacted to his parents dying and being placed in his eldest brother's custody. Liam was barely able to support himself, let alone three brothers. For a time, he'd thought they'd all end up going back to England, even though they were all technically dual citizens and Liam had a work visa—they never did though. They'd stayed in the same town they'd grown up with their parents and Arthur had to deal with their ghosts nearly every day. He hated it and had wished they'd leave constantly—he still did and he counted down the days to when he'd finish school and could attend college somewhere, anywhere, but there. A lot of that emotion was hard to understand as a child, especially when your only disciplinary figure was a bully of a brother who resented the fact you were there to begin with.

He had pushed nearly all of his friends away and had been happy to—they didn't know how to deal with poor, parentless Artie and some (i.e. Francis Bonnefoy, the biggest prat if there ever was one) had even started to taunt him about it. Alfred never had, but he'd never defended him either—and now he was friends with all of those berks and the school fawned over him while Arthur was treated like his next stop was prison (like he would ever do something that would warrant anything more than a slap on the wrist, he'd studied the penal code, thank you very much). His reputation did serve some good though; it kept people away from him, which was how he liked it. Or that was what he told himself was easier, because losing someone you let close…

It was the worst thing imaginable and no one understood that because they'd never experienced anything quite so desolate in their petty, shallow lives where the only thing that mattered was to be on top.

Stuck in the group detention (which had to be new because while yes they'd done classroom detention before, the Academy had never done an all day Saturday session and given him the chance to cut them off from their overseer), where everyone was just a bit too close to him for comfort and, well. He peeked up and saw that Alfred was playing with a small, paper American football he'd made out of his essay paper, concentrated on kicking it between two goal posts he'd made out of pencils. His tongue was peeking out from between his lips and he looked completely enthralled in his game, even giving a little, silent cheer when he flicked it between the pencils. He turned his eyes away before he was caught and closed his eyes.

The detention was a bloody pain in the arse, that's what it was.

* * *

Elizaveta wasn't stupid.

She may not have been as studious as Kiku or an evil genius like Arthur, but she had one of the highest standings in their class nonetheless. She was, above all, extremely observant, which was useful in both directing and managing the multiple groups she was a member of and also in finding weakness in others and using it best against them. She could admit she wasn't the nicest of people because of this, but no one was really nice in high school—the entire institution was built to split teenagers into specific social groups and standing and to hold some groups higher than others. However, there were times when she used her skills for good, such as when she noticed two idiots dancing around each other and decided that a little matchmaking was in order to help give her some brownie points in her karmic balance spreadsheet.

She liked Alfred Jones. He was the rare jock who was actually a good guy for the most part, some of his most recent indiscretions notwithstanding (she knew what he'd done to land in detention and she knew he was ashamed about it, so hadn't mentioned anything). He'd shared a private secret regarding his bisexuality and while part of her couldn't believe he'd confessed something like that to her in the first place, another part had been grateful that someone sincerely trusted her for once. He was handsome, funny, a little slow on the uptake sometimes, scarily smart in physics, completely lacking of most tact, a devoted older brother, and adorably naïve about life. So yes, she liked him, even if they weren't really friends.

Arthur Kirkland she did not like and was fairly certain the feeling was mutual. His life was a sad one and she felt pity for him because of that (not that he'd appreciate any of her pity, but he had it anyway), but having tragedy in your life didn't give him permission to be the tyrannical bully he was to so many in school. Elizaveta believed that everyone had a choice in what they decide to do with their life after something terrible happened, and she thought that Arthur had chosen horribly. It didn't help that his insults were generally so cutting because they exposed the worst truths that everyone tried to hide and he especially liked to attack the popular crowds, which meant Elizaveta. He was a punkish brute who was too smart for his own good and Elizaveta couldn't wait until they graduated and she hopefully wouldn't have to see him again.

However, because it was her business to know things, she knew that before Arthur's parents had died, he'd been a good person and he'd been best friends with Alfred. Or, as best friends someone as stodgy as Arthur had been could be with someone as energetic as Alfred. Still, they'd been close and Elizaveta could tell a pigtail-pulling crush when she saw one. Gilbert had actually helped solidify her suspicions with his crude comments earlier, and while she wasn't about to thank the disgusting pig, she was grateful for his unique intervention. Alfred and Arthur liked each other underneath all the hurt and distance between them, and while Elizaveta didn't do favors for people like Arthur, she would for someone like Alfred.

She flounced her hair and hummed to herself as she began circling different dresses she could potentially wear to prom that year from a magazine she had smuggled in; the others looked like they were falling asleep (except Kiku, he was writing that essay like his life depended on it) but Elizaveta wasn't about to waste time with sleep when she could be productive in biding her time. She smiled a little as she circled a green, empire-wasted dress that would look amazing on her and waited for the others to wake up.

TBC…

* * *

You guys are awesome. Thanks so much for all your favs/comments/general excitement over this fic! More to come soon!

Osco


	3. Scene Three

Fic: Think We Are (3/8)  
Genre: humor, angst of the teenage variety, pining, the usual High School Tropes  
Pairings: USUK, Prussia/Hungary, Japan/Taiwan (brief)  
Rating: M  
Warnings: Language to the max, sex/crude language, potentially offensive POVs and nicknames, past character deaths (noncanon), bullying, brief 'slut shaming,' passing mentions of drug abuse, and teenagers(because they need their own warning).  
Summary:We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did *was* we think you're crazy to make an essay telling you who we **think we are**. You see us as you want to see us...

* * *

Think We Are

Scene Three

"_You do everything everyone tells you to do, that is a problem."_ – Allison Reynolds, _The Breakfast Club _(1985)

_**A Snippet of Kiku**_

_There was a lot of pressure that came with being the best at something._

_To be honest, Kiku hadn't even really tried to be the best at first. He'd always been smart, he'd always been able to do math in his head and remember history facts without much studying, and he'd learned how to speak Japanese and Mandarin when he'd been little. It wasn't until he was in fifth grade that the word 'prodigy' started to get used, and every time someone would mention it, his parents would puff up more, and Kiku would have a little bit more pressure added to his shoulders. Expectations started to mean a lot to him and his family, so much that fun started to seem inconsequential when faced with the possibilities of all that Kiku could achieve if he applied himself._

_Kiku had always been a rather serious child, but it wasn't until middle school that he realized what exactly he was giving up to pursue his dreams of academic excellence. It was there he'd met Alfred Jones and __Heracles Karpusi__ and suddenly, having friends who not only were interested in the same things as he was, but also genuinely liked him, was more important than studying for five hours every day. His parents hadn't agreed, but as long as his grades didn't suffer, it wasn't like they could do much—for the first time, being above average looked better than being perfect._

_High school had changed all of that. Alfred started hanging around him less and less as he grew into the football star for the academy and __Heracles__ started becoming less and less motivated in school. They'd grown apart and Kiku started surrounding himself with people who wanted to same thing as he did, to be known for their minds (since there was precious little else about them worth remembering, Kiku had come to the grim realization). Teasing, a 'friend' Kiku had always been unable to shake, became less of an occurrence and more of a daily event until having friends, even friends with similar interests, just didn't seem to matter anymore._

_Kiku was in detention because being the best had become the only thing he had that meant anything to him and he couldn't bear the thought of losing the title. He didn't know how that compared to the others' reasons, but to him to bitterness that came with his made it the most terrible to bear._

_He really just wanted high school to be over._

* * *

Alfred wasn't sure when exactly he'd fallen asleep, but he knew that when the book slammed down on the desk and woke him up, it had felt like he'd barely shut his eyes. He blinked up at Germania and tried to grin a little bit; the guy didn't appreciate the half-hearted apology as much as Alfred had hoped he would. He suppressed the urge to stretch (sleeping in a desk didn't do great things for his back) and tried to avoid Germania's disappointed scowl until it swept away from him to the rest of the room. Alfred glanced around and saw at least he wasn't the only one who had been sleeping (hell, Gilbert was still snoring and resisting all of Germania's attempts to wake him up); only Elizaveta looked alert, which made him a little self-conscious. He didn't think she'd taken embarrassing pictures of him sleeping, but he never knew with her.

"It's eleven-thirty; you'll have a half hour for lunch." Germania started. Arthur cleared his throat and Alfred couldn't help but grin at the way Germania's shoulders got all tensed up. "Yes, Kirkland, what is it?"

"Will milk be made available to us? We are on school property and some of us have lunch passes—the fact that it's Saturday shouldn't matter against our ability to have access to school-provided goods." Alfred glanced over and saw that Arthur didn't seem to have anything with him, apart from his school bag which was too flat to have any food inside. He felt his stomach clench at the idea of Arthur not eating for the entire day and at the way Germania's face remained unmoved.

"Yeah, um, you know milk is really good for concentrating and stuff—we should probably have some if we're going to need to think about our actions for another four hours." Alfred tried to look innocent and convincing as Germania glared at him. He probably just looked constipated—he could feel Arthur's stare on him as well and that wasn't helping his nerves at all.

"I've seen Alfred when he can't concentrate properly, Mr. Germania," Elizaveta piped up. Alfred looked at her and wished he had half of her poker face because damn, she was good. "It's terrible and I'm afraid it would keep me from being able to write my own essay."

"Milk is extremely nutritious," Kiku added. Alfred smiled and had to push down the impulse to high-five himself because yeah, he was awesome. Gilbert snorted from his position in the back, but Germania didn't bother to look back at him.

"Fine, we can pick up some milk from the teacher's lounge. Jones, get up here. You and—you and Kirkland can go get the drinks and if you're not back in the next ten minutes you'll both—"

"—be stuck in here until graduation, yes, we know, old boy." Arthur saluted Germania and gave Alfred a look as he got out of his seat. 'Well, come on, Golden Boy, can't have you without your milk now, can we?"

Alfred scrambled up and followed out after Arthur; he caught a glimpse of Germania smacking Gilbert with a magazine as the library doors closed and then hurried to keep up with Arthur's long strides. He looked over at him and smiled hesitantly when Arthur sighed and turned to meet his gaze. "So, you're totally welcome."

Arthur raised his eyebrow before he turned away from Alfred. "And what exactly am I welcome for?"

"You know, for getting you the milk! Germania hates you too much to do anything you ask, but I figured if I asked, or if someone else asked, he'd be more willing to not be such a dick about the milk." He grinned brightly at the side of Arthur's head. It faded a little when he heard Arthur give a derisive snort as they turned down the hallway and headed towards the building the teacher's lounge was in.

"Well, I hate to burst your naïve little bubble, but I don't give a shit about having milk or not, nor do I feel the need to thank you for swooping in to save the day for me, the lowly peasant to your white knight." Arthur shoved his hands deeper into his pockets (not that Alfred knew how he even got his hand in there in the first place, they were so tight….and that was enough of that train of thought) and he glanced over at Alfred before they started heading up some stairs. His eyes were darker than usual and they made Alfred want to curl up in a ball. "I just like fucking with Germania—the man is a putrid bugger who likes to see his students squirm under his shadow. He deserves to get taken down a peg or ten."

"But—" Alfred didn't know what to say to that. He felt like he had about a hundred things he wanted to say (or yell) at Arthur, but had no idea how to start any of them. Or, at least start them in a way that would make Arthur listen. Shit, being with him when he was such a dick just made the memories he had of when they were kids way worse. "Well, I still got you milk so you should at least say thanks, it's not like you had anything for lunch anyway."

And that was probably the last thing Alfred had wanted to say—damn it.

Arthur grabbed his shirt and slammed him into the wall (which was impressive—Alfred wasn't a huge guy, but he definitely was a lot more brawny compared to Arthur). "I don't have to say shit to you, Golden Boy. You did your good deed for the school delinquent, did him a favor against the mean, old headmaster, and suddenly you think you're worth an ounce of my gratitude? You don't know the meaning of word."

"Yeah? Well, I know that even if I'm some dumbass jock who picks on kids, which I'm not by the way, I'm a hell of lot nicer than you! You're just a dickhead because you can be one and get away with it and think you're like, entitled to be one. Well, guess what? You're not." Alfred shoved Arthur off him and clenched his fists up at his sides. He sort of wanted to punch Arthur in the face, but he knew he couldn't—he wasn't going to be that guy ever again, even if some people deserved his bad side.

Arthur stared at him with narrowed eyes before he got up close again, not close enough to be threatening, but close enough to speak low and for Alfred to hear him. "You don't know shit about who I am, Alfred. You haven't for a long time."

"And whose fault is that, uh? Pretty sure it was you who called me a 'pea-brained idiot' and yelled that you never wanted to see me again when we were kids!" He breathed out through his nose because it was easier to hear his breathing that way, and if he could hear it, he could try and use it to calm down. Because they were heading toward a fight fast and Alfred really didn't want to fight with Arthur. The additional detention would suck, but mostly he felt like if they fought that it would break whatever small chance they could theoretically have at being something more than what they were. But that was sappy as fuck so Alfred was definitely going with the detention thing if people asked.

Arthur rolled his eyes, but didn't respond, mostly because he probably knew it was hard to argue against Alfred's words without going into the messier sides of his shit. He smoothed down his clothes, which was funny because his clothes were supposed to be messy and Arthur wasn't supposed to care how he looked anyway, but he did. It was moments like this when Alfred could see his Arthur still there. "We're going to be late with the damn milk if we start brawling in the middle of the hallway."

Alfred stared after Arthur for a second before following him back towards the break room again. They were silent, really uncomfortably silent, for the rest of the walk there and it was killing Alfred not saying anything but—but he knew Arthur, even if sometimes it didn't seem like he did anymore, and he knew when it was best to leave him alone in his head. So, he kept his mouth shut (because it was definitely one of the 'leave Arthur the hell alone' moments), and suffered the most awkward of awkward silences ever as they walked down the hallways. They arrived at the teacher's lounge and pushed the door open; it was unlocked, which was a little bit of a surprise, but he guessed Germania probably was going to be napping himself in there sometime today. There was a vending machine in the corner and they made their way over; Arthur cursed and fished out his wallet from his jacket, but Alfred shook his head and shouldered Arthur out of the way.

Alfred knew that the last thing Arthur liked was charity, but he wasn't going to make the guy pay for milk he apparently hadn't even wanted so, yeah. He was buying. He pulled out five dollars from his wallet and bought each of them milk, handing them off to Arthur to hold a few as he fed in money to the machine. He carried two of the milks himself and they started on their way back to the library, still in the most awkwardly-awkward silence that had ever awkwarded and by the time they had passed by the science block again, Alfred had to say something to break it. Hopefully, something better than what he'd gone with last time.

"I didn't, you know, get you the milk you didn't even want because I wanted to show-off or whatever." Ok, that he could work with—it was a hell of a lot better a start than last time. "I just—I didn't want you to be the only one without anything for lunch, and I thought you wanted some so…yeah."

Arthur glanced over at him, his face carefully schooled into a neutral expression (his face was the fucking Switzerland of neutral expressions when he tried; he could probably give Vash's deadpan a run for its money some days). "Why do you care about this bloody milk situation? You keep trying to explain yourself and I don't know why you care."

"Well, I just, I don't want you thinking I'd be the sort of guy who just does shit to impress other people or to show how much better I am than others, because I'm not." He wasn't, he really, really wasn't. "I was honestly just trying to get you some sort of lunch."

Arthur stared at him and paused outside one of the chemistry labs. His eyes were bright and stuck on Alfred with an intensity that made him both uncomfortable and excited (the uncomfortable was both because of his excitement AND the fact that Arthur terrified him—his lust-maybe-love was freaking complicated). "All right, you want to absolve some sort of guilt you obviously have and think changing my mind about how I think of you may help, let's play then. Why are you here?"

Alfred blinked and his heart beat a little faster in his chest. "Um, what does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything. I want to know why you're here in detention. This whole milk situation is much too mundane and ridiculous to make you so fixated on the issue of my 'approval' over you and who you are, so I want to know why you're here. Because I wager that whatever you did to land yourself in here is why you care so much." Arthur crossed his arms and gave Alfred a 'come on then, I'm waiting' kind of look and Alfred felt his face heat up. He looked down and would've shoved his hands in his jacket pockets if it weren't for the milk.

"I uh—I did something stupid and Coach—it was fucking Ivan's idea that—you know what? It doesn't really matter what it was. I did something stupid, something jackassy. And, now I'm here because Coach and my parents don't want me to fuck up my chances for scouts to get interested in me and then find out I'm some sort of…and I guess they're teaching Mattie a lesson while they're at it, so he doesn't make the same, ah, mistake." He glanced up as Arthur cleared his throat and felt his stomach clench up at how unimpressed he looked.

"Well, that was very interesting," his voice drawled out. "Now, why don't you tell me why you're really here. I believe you did something moronic, however, I don't think it was something that doesn't matter, and talking around something doesn't mean you talked about it."

"I—why are you here?" Alfred felt stupid the minute the question left his mouth and Arthur chuckled, a little helplessly, after him.

"Well, that is the million dollar question, isn't it?" He turned and started back towards the library; Alfred stared down at the ground for a beat longer before he trailed after. The silence was back, but this time, it felt more like defeated silence to Alfred—he couldn't help but feel like he had been hoping for Arthur's approval in some way, or his acknowledgment that he wasn't a bad guy, and now that he still didn't have it. Well…it sucked. He blew out a breath and tried to tell himself it didn't matter what Arthur thought of him, because it wasn't like they were friends anymore. Arthur was just a guy that Alfred thought had grown up hot and wanted to have sex with him, nothing else. The thought left a nasty taste in his mouth.

"Alfred." He started at Arthur's voice. Not only because it was a little less hostile, but also because he'd actually called him by his _name_.

"Um, yeah?"

"Are you sorry, for whatever it was you did to land yourself in here?" Arthur wasn't looking at him. He was looking at the library's double doors they were coming up on quicker than Alfred liked, but he could feel all of Arthur's attention focused on him.

He didn't really need much time to answer; he'd felt sorry for what he'd done the second he'd done it, but he wanted Arthur to believe him. He wouldn't have asked if he hadn't cared, right? "Yeah…yeah I am."

Arthur's eyes darted over to him briefly and he nodded at him. "Good."

Alfred couldn't help but smile as they re-entered the library. It was only one word, but there'd been just a little bit of forgiveness in that word and that was what mattered.

* * *

_**A Snippet of Arthur**_

_Bloody idiot…he looks like someone kicked both him and his puppy. And then maybe turned him into a puppy and kicked him again for good measure. _

_Why does he even give a rat's arse what I think? For that matter, why did he scheme to get me lunch, despite the fact that it's milk and I can only stand the stuff when it's in tea? Why does he care that everyone else, even Gilbert for Christ's sake, has lunch and I don't because I couldn't bloody bother to make a tomato sandwich after the nightmare it had been to take Peter to daycare because I'm stuck in pissing detention and Liam's actually at work? Why is he even bothering with me after all that I did to break our friendship and all that I've done to make his life a little more miserable now? Well, it's not like I was gunning for him though, was I? Just the elitist bigots at this school and sometimes he happens to hang around them._

_He really isn't like them though—no matter how much I try and tell myself he is because then I don't have to feel like fool for treating him as such for years. _

_Sometimes, I think the only reason I ever kept him away for so long is because whenever I look at him, and his family, I can't help but see all that I've lost and how I'll never get a family like that._

_Oh, belt up, Arthur you bleeding coot! He's walking right behind you and is so obviously consumed with guilt—there must be a reason why he won't tell me what he'd done. He's ashamed of himself._

_But—what does it mean that having my approval means so much to him? _

_I suppose…it couldn't hurt to give him something. He's not a bad person, not where it counts. At least, no worse than me so if having a fucked up near-convict's pardon helps him out—well, it's not like anyone can really see us anyway._

_I wish his smile didn't mean so much to me still—it's a bloody annoyance that it does._

* * *

Gilbert really didn't give many fucks about anything. He gave a fuck about his brother, even though the little asswipe was a brown-nosing go-getter. He gave a fuck about his pet bird, aptly named Gilbird because how could you not name a fucking bird Gilbird when your name is Gilbert? He also gave a fuck about causing just enough mayhem around school that his parents have to pay attention to him, because some attention was better than nothing. Sometimes, he gave a fuck about his grades, because he did want to get out of his parent's house and he'd grown accustomed to, you know, eating good food and shit so he was aware he needed an actual job sometime down the road. Mostly, he just didn't give a fuck though, and he's found that he was a hell of a lot happier for it.

Arthur Kirkland gave way too many fucks, even though he pretended like he didn't. He cared about what a lot of people thought of him, people like his brothers, both older and younger, and college admission boards. He didn't care what the faculty thought of him, but the student body, he certainly cared about his reputation with them. And, as it turned out, he still cared what Alfred Jones thought of him, which was interesting and almost worth being stuck in detention for.

Gilbert hadn't been friends with Kirkland or Jones when they'd been joined at the hip, but he had lived on the same block as the Kirklands and watched them sometimes. It was because of them he asked his parents if two dudes could get married, because he might have only been eight, but even he could tell that what was growing between Kirkland and Jones was something a lot more complicated than his friendship with Antonio and Francis. He had pegged them to hook up before he even knew what hooking up even was, but then Kirkland's parents had died in a car crash and they were gone. He hadn't really thought about the falling out Kirkland and Jones had until now though, watching the two practically pull each other's pigtails.

He watched them as they walked back into the library, milk in hand, Kirkland's face closed off but Jones smiling so wide Gilbert thought it might break his face. Deputy headmaster Fuckface gave them a glance, reminded them they had a half hour, and shut the door behind him (yeah, like the guy was really going to monitor that they spent exactly a half hour to eat before going back to 'reflecting' on their past indiscretions). Kirkland tossed him a milk carton, which he grabbed midair and pulled out the rest of his lunch; the milk would go nicely with his CapnCrunch and pixie stick sandwich, and he could use the coke he'd brought as a dipping sauce. Sweet.

Honda pulled out a neat and organized lunch that looked like it most definitely was the stereotypical bento box lunch, and began eating silently. The guy was too fucking quiet for Gilbert's taste, but he wasn't the usual nerd-type that Gilbert liked to antagonize so he left him alone for the most part. Honda nodded at Jones as he passed out his milk and went back to eating small, measured bites of what looked like sushi. Gilbert snorted and took a huge bite of his sandwich; fucking Taco Bell bullshit, ha!

Hedevary, or 'Tits' as he'd taken to calling her in his head because holy shit she had some nice ones, took a milk from Kirkland too and had surprisingly thanked him for it as he walked away. Gilbert stared at her for a little bit, as she opened up a plastic bowl that had something in it that smelled good, soup or something, and had another plastic container next to it with salad inside. Pfft, figured she'd like rabbit food. Her hands were as pretty as the rest of her and he liked how they held a spoon or cradled her bowl (it got his mind going as to other things she could be holding, his dick to be specific) and he liked the shape of her neck as she ate. Yeah, Hedevary was hot as hell and not nearly as much of an airhead as he'd always thought she'd be.

Kirkland sat down at his table, a single milk of his own placed far away from him, and opened up one of his magazines again. He didn't bother to get out any food of his own. Jones pulled out a fucking grocery bag worth of food and glanced back at Kirkland before nodding to himself, getting up, and down next to Kirkland, who looked speechless for once. And fuck, if that wasn't priceless. Jones unloaded a shit-ton of food (which included two apples, a banana, a carton of juice, three different meat sandwiches, a bag of animal crackers, a bag of chips, and some jerky) and smiled at Kirkland, waving at his food in silent invitation to help himself. Kirkland stared (along with everyone else) and didn't bother to try hiding his confusion.

"Well, it's not like I can really eat all of this. My mom is a food pusher." He pushed his juice and one of his sandwiches towards Kirkland and started eating his food without saying anything else. Kirkland stared a little bit more and hesitantly began eating alongside Jones, shooting him confused and cautious looks in between bites. Gilbert snorted and took another bite of his own lunch. He knew for a fact that Jones could eat his weight in food; Antonio's horror stories of after-game buffet trips were legendary and there were stories about how Jones once ate an entire platter of burgers by himself and still asked for ice cream afterwards. Kirkland knew the story too, which was probably why he was staring at Jones as if he'd lost his mind.

Seriously, they were both idiots.

Hedevary was watching them with a disdain too; they caught each other's eyes over the pair and he smiled at her, mouth full of food as she realized that he saw what she obviously saw (what fucking passengers in a plane saw, Christ). She smirked back at him and inclined her head before turning back to her food primly and taking a determined bite out of her salad. Gilbert may not have given many fucks about a lot of things, but if playing matchmaker with Elizaveta Hedevary got him closer into her skirts, he'd sure as hell give a fuck about it.

TBC…

* * *

Sorry for the delay-I blew out my knee and have been on a lot of pain meds the last few days. Because of that, I apologize if there's more typos than normal...it is really hard to focus on stuff while on vicodin.

Reviews are always appreciated, especially when I'm bedridden XD


	4. Scene Four

Fic: Think We Are (4/8)

Genre: humor, angst of the teenage variety, pining, the usual High School Tropes

Pairings: USUK, Prussia/Hungary, Japan/Taiwan (brief)  
Rating: M  
Warnings: Language to the max, sex/crude language, potentially offensive POVs and nicknames, past character deaths (noncanon), bullying, brief 'slut shaming,' passing mentions of drug abuse, and teenagers(because they need their own warning).  
Summary: We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did *was* wrong. But we think you're crazy to make an essay telling you who we **think we are**. You see us as you want to see us…

Reviews are always loved. As are readers!

* * *

Think We Are

Scene Four

"_Doesn't it bother you to sleep around without being in love, I mean, don't you want any respect?"_ – Claire , _The Breakfast Club _(1985)

_**A Snippet of Alfred**_

_Alfred's not entirely sure what's led him up to this point, but he knew that a lot of it had to do with cowardice. Which he hated being, a coward. _

_Call him stupid, but he still believed in the heroes from his comic books, the ones that no matter how messed up their lives were, always knew what was wrong and right and fought for the right, even if people hated them for it. Alfred liked to fancy himself something of a hero, nothing as awesome as Captain America or Batman or Storm, but enough of one for high school. He was the star quarterback, the one who was going to lead his team to the championship this year and his senior year to boot. He was the one who was going to go and make something of himself in college when he made some awesome discovery in physics that would change the world. He was the one who stopped Ivan Braginski from hazing the newbies and who showed being a decent person was actually pretty cool. _

_But…he was also the guy who caved to Braginski's taunts and had humiliated Feliciano Vargas to prove he wasn't a pussy for liking guys._

_That guy, well, he wasn't very heroic._

_The shitty part was that even after he'd done what he'd done, Feliciano had forgiven him when their parents had a joint conference in the headmistress's office. His forgiveness had been quiet and sounded genuine, but Alfred could tell he was only doing it because he didn't want to risk having to add Alfred to his list of tormentors. And, he had never felt so low in all his life. The headmistress wanted a championship football team, his parents wanted Alfred to learn a lesson, the Vargas family just wanted to put the whole mess behind them as they clearly had been through the routine before, so Alfred was sentenced to detention. Like that made everything better._

_Problem was, every time Alfred met Arthur's eyes, eyes that didn't even know what he'd done but knew it couldn't have been good and just weren't even surprised…_

_Alfred didn't know when it had happened, but he had become the same kind of guy he had once promised himself he wouldn't be. And he didn't want to be that guy anymore._

* * *

Lunch passed without event (save for the utter bizarre share-time he found himself stuck in with Alfred as he shared his truly disgusting amount of food), which of course meant that the peace they'd all found themselves in was about to come crashing down around them. And it did, almost immediately after all their desks were clean and leftover food (only in Elizaveta's case) was packed away. And, unsurprisingly, it was Gilbert who started it.

"So, what's everyone's fuck-count so far this year?" Arthur rolled his eyes heavenward and resisted the urge to punch Gilbert in the dick. Hard. Possibly hard enough that he could never spawn and create new, unholy terrors in his image. The last thing he wanted to discuss was his sex life, especially with Alfred sitting right next to him, making his skin itch with the desire to touch him. He glared at Gilbert, who looked completely unremorseful (even a little bit gleeful, he'd wager) at the sudden, thick cloud of tension that seemed to fill the room.

"I am so _not_ discussing any of my private life to total strangers!"

"I really don't think that sort of talk is very appropriate…"

"Fuck off, Gilbert, we're not talking about that shit."

"Why, don't have much to talk about, you three?" Gilbert sat cross-legged on top of his desk and smiled at all of them in satisfaction. "Are you going to wait for the 'One'? I hear that's supposed to be the cool thing to do nowadays. Oh! Do you have promise rings and bracelets?"

Elizaveta glared hotly and aimed her frostiest look at Gilbert. "Just because we're not all whores like you doesn't mean you get to pretend like you're better than us. So, you've had a lot of 'so-called' sex and maybe some of the rest of us haven't; big deal. The only thing that means to any of us is that you lack respect for yourself even worse than any of the rest of us."

Arthur could almost feel the temperature in the room drop as Gilbert's lip curled at Elizaveta's words. "Fucking and respecting yourself don't have anything to do with each other in the real world, princess. You're dreaming if you think they do."

"Am I? I think that you, and people like you, like to tell yourselves that little lie so you when you're doing whatever version of the walk of shame you get the next morning, you can pretend you're better than all the rest of us and that you're not lonely assholes no one even likes well enough to keep you around outside of your hook-ups." Elizaveta flounced her hair and crossed her arms over her chest. It pressed her breasts up and even though Arthur generally didn't go for tits, he could see the appeal of hers (and so could Alfred and Kiku as well, if the furtive staring was anything to go by). Gilbert was up and heading towards her then, which prompted Alfred to stand up and place himself between the pair of them.

"You don't know a damn thing about me or people like me, princess, so why don't you shut your stupid, pristine mouth and go back to your little castle in the clouds where you can flaunt how much better you are than everyone else." Elizaveta's faced burned and even though it amused Arthur to see her so flustered, Gilbert was getting a little too worked up. "I'll tell you a little something too, princess. Telling yourself that we're the lonely fuck-ups doesn't change the fact that no one apparently wants to be with you either, unless it's to nuzzle their faces in between your huge boobs and then toss you aside like a used up doll the next morning."

"Shut up!"

"Hey, man, don't talk to her like that! You're the one who started this stupid fight with your dumb sex record thing!" Alfred looked good when he was protective, Arthur decided. All strong jaw and arms—a part of him wondered what it would feel like if those were defending him instead of Elizaveta. Silly thought because Arthur sure as fuck didn't need any bloody protection, but still. He made quite the picture.

"Please, everyone, I really don't think that we should be arguing like this."

"Oh, pipe down, Honda. Do what you're so good at doing and shut up like a good dog and let the real people talk." Kiku recoiled back into his seat like he'd been slapped. Arthur didn't know why that bothered him, because he and Kiku had never been especially close, but it did. He got up from his seat and grabbed Gilbert by his collar, yanking him away from everyone else and tossing him into his desk; Gilbert looked like he was going to do something stupid, so Arthur grabbed his wrist, pinned it to the table, and pressed the heel of his palm into the more sensitive bones.

"Ah, fuck man! Get off me!"

"I think you need to take a stock of your current behavior and calm the fuck down, Gil." He stared Gilbert down, not as unnerved by the red eyes as he'd been when they'd first met, and pressed his knee into the fleshy part of Gilbert's knee when he tried to buck Arthur off. Gilbert groaned and stopped fidgeting. "Now, I agree with you in that it's shit to act like having casual sex is some sort of crime and automatically makes you a lonely, miserable person, but you keep acting like a wanker and I'll make sure you don't bother them for the rest of detention. I'm stuck here enough of my Saturdays as it is, I'm not about to get stuck here more because you've got your delicate sensibilities in knots because the kiddies don't want to play along with your own little shame-game."

"Arthur—maybe you shouldn't—"

"If I can handle a drunken oaf of a brother on a bad night of football—and not that American shit, the _real _kind—I can handle one tantrum-throwing teenager, thank you very much, Alfred." Arthur didn't break eye contact with Gilbert. He watched as Gilbert's face faded back to its normal, pale hue and his eyes started to clear again. "So, if I let go, will you stop threatening the others? Especially Elizaveta, because mate, I don't think I like your chances against her as it is."

Gilbert rolled his eyes, but there was a small nod of his head there too, so Arthur released him and stepped back; Gilbert was going to bruise where Arthur had held him down. He nodded and turned back to the others, who were watching him with a mixture of awe and terror; he raised his brow at them before he focused on Elizaveta, who didn't look shaken at being subjected to Gilbert's anger, but did look a little ruffled. "Now, to answer Gilbert's question, because as crudely as he spoke, it certainly wasn't as horrible a topic as you all made it out to be, I've been with two people this year and neither of them lasted especially long with me. There, not so bad now, was it?"

"Maybe it's easy for you to talk about your conquests, but for some people it means more than that! For some people, we value our private lives and what we do in them." Arthur crossed his arms and leaned back against Kiku's desk as he studied Elizaveta.

"It must be hard to breathe so high up on your horse, Hedevary."

"Arthur, don't—" Alfred started. Arthur stared at him hard and talked over him.

"No, Alfred, I don't think I will. Now, I may not be as cultured as you, Hedevary, but believe it or not I have my own moral and ethical compass and I do value what I do in my private life. Just because it's not what you value in yours, doesn't make me easy or give you the right to treat me like I am. You have no idea what I felt for any of the people I've been with, if it was casual or serious, if it was experimentation or something deeper, and what's more, it doesn't matter. Intimacy, in whatever form it takes, is not something you have the right to make me feel ashamed over."

Elizaveta was upset now. He could see it in the tremble of her lip, the way her nails dug into her arms, the glossiness of her eyes, and while Arthur didn't feel exactly proud that he'd done that, he felt accomplished that he'd at least given her food for thought and a different perspective that exposed ugly bits of her. She sniffed and looked away, down at her purse, and Arthur heard Gilbert give a victorious huff; Arthur glared at him and dared him to mock her because he was punching him hard enough to leave a dent if he ruined the moment.

"Well, perhaps she—perhaps it's fear that made us pause. Not all of us can be as open as you, Arthur, and sometimes the fear of being labeled as easy is nothing compared to hearing others talk about sex and wondering if it will happen for us and if it does, if it will live up to the expectations we've made in our heads." Arthur turned and looked at Kiku as he spoke in his quiet, measured voice. He spoke like he was still puzzling out his own words as they left him. "I have been with only one person, and sometimes I wonder if I was only with her because we both just wanted to not be virgins anymore or if I had honestly wanted to be with her. It's hard to live with."

"Who was she?" Alfred leaned forward on his desk and Elizaveta was peeking back up at them from underneath her bangs. Kiku smiled a little wanly at Alfred.

"Her name's Mei. She was a member of my study group in calculus last semester."

"Nice, little man," Gilbert piped up. Kiku blushed and pointedly did not look over at Gilbert.

"Hey, I know her—that's cool." Alfred cupped the back of his neck and he gave everyone shy looks. "I uh—I actually you know, haven't. With anyone. I guess I—I've gotten some shit about it from the team but I just—I haven't been interested. I mean, not that I'm not interested in sex! Because I am, very interested, I just—I guess I am kind of waiting. For the right per—time. The right time."

Alfred looked over and met Arthur's eyes for a second before looking away quickly and Arthur felt heat lick up his spine because that had to have been deliberate. Alfred, for all his bumbling and thick-headedness wasn't that oblivious. The problem that was facing Arthur now was how did he feel about it. Because Arthur—he was not staying when he graduated. He wanted to stretch his legs out in the big, wide world and see where they could take him, find out if he could be more than just the too-smart, fuck-up orphan and be someone his parents wouldn't mind telling everyone who could hear that he was their son. And Alfred—he still had another year and then who knew where he'd go. The idiot was a mechanical genius and understood physics in a way that made Arthur's head spin (he was smart, but he could honestly say he didn't get physics the way that Alfred did), and could go anywhere he wanted.

Arthur liked casual sex, but he didn't do it often. And, he wouldn't want Alfred casually, that much he knew, which was part of why it was so much easier to not think about the possibility of a 'them' and slot Alfred into the ignorant jock category in his mind. Being stuck here with him, having to watch him up close, stripped bare, and smiling—it was hard to keep up the pretense of him being the ignorant jerk when he so clearly wasn't. It would be easier on both of them if they didn't rekindle anything that could've been between them; hadn't Arthur already reconciled with the fact that his life hardly ever went the way he wanted it to? He swallowed and looked down at his knees, not knowing what he was looking for there but at least it kept him from looking at Alfred.

"I—I haven't either, Alfred." Elizaveta's voice was softer than Arthur had ever heard it before and she moved cautiously from her chair to sit on the edge of the desk, like everyone else was. Her eyes looked red, but it didn't look like she'd been crying. She was looking at Alfred when she spoke, but if she didn't want the rest of them to hear, she wouldn't have said anything. "I—this year, I almost did, once. Right before Roderich and I broke up we almost did. But I—it didn't feel right to me and I told him I didn't want to. And as considerate as he was, he dumped me and called me a teasing whore who had wasted his time. I thought we were in love and he just wanted to fuck me—is that the story you all wanted to hear?"

She glared at him as she spat out her story, but before he could say anything, Gilbert chimed in. "Just because he was a dick about sex doesn't mean that it's all bad, and it sure as fuck doesn't mean that you're a whore any more than anyone else is. Consensual sex is the only way to hang, and if he dumped you for exercising you're right to say hold the fuck up, then I think you dodged a bullet and should just be thankful that his lame ass won't ever get to touch those glorious tits again, princess."

Elizaveta blinked at him and Arthur couldn't blame her bafflement. Arthur had grown to know Gilbert very well throughout the years they'd been stuck in detention with each other, and if there was one thing Arthur had never heard Gilbert give, it was comfort of any kind. And yet, here he was, basically telling Elizaveta that she was worth more than some bugger who only thought about himself (something that Arthur fully agreed with and would've said so a little less crudely had he been given a chance) in his own way. Arthur glanced over and took in Gilbert's face, the way his eyes were burning with belief in what he'd said and focused solely on her. As a connoisseur of pining, Arthur recognized the faint threads of longing in those eyes and he would have outright laughed if they air wasn't so volatile between all of them still.

"I—thank you, Gilbert. I think." She tilted her head and gave him a small, private smile that looked real. "I honestly wouldn't have expected you to be so—well, to be honest, I thought you'd be an asshole if you found out I was a virgin, much less Alfred."

"Yeah, well, I am but an onion and have many a layer, even if you just usually see the fucked up ones." He didn't return the smile, but he did smirk a little kinder. "Well, my turn, is it? I have had the pleasure of having…no carnal relationships this year."

They all stared at him before Elizaveta started to laugh a little hysterically. "So—so you made that huge deal all about sex and having and you haven't even—" She started to hiccup she was laughing so hard, and soon, Alfred, Kiku, and Gilbert were laughing along with her. Arthur chuckled a little and felt like hitting Gilbert again. Honestly, he was surprised that he was still surprised by Gilbert's antics; he got into a huge fight with everyone (mostly Elizaveta) over an issue that was apparently just a theory for him. Christ.

"Went a bit buck wild last year—haven't really found anyone I liked this year. The problem with casual sex is that, eventually, you start to get picky, which is a pain in the ass. You want a challenge, and I don't mean that as like a game. I mean someone who challenges you as a person. It's way more interesting that way." Arthur rolled his eyes as he and Elizaveta stared at each other—they looked like they were about to pounce and Arthur truly did not want to witness that in any capacity.

"So, really, what we've come up is that sex is really fucking complicated. Did I read that right?" Alfred grinned at all of them, still chuckling a little to himself over the words. "Because that's what I got. No matter whether you have lots of sex with different people, sex with just one person, or no sex at all, it's always a fucking mess."

"It's supposed to be; otherwise I'd imagine it'd get boring." Alfred met his eyes and his smile softened again. Arthur didn't want to look away.

* * *

_**A Snippet of Gilbert**_

_Fuck. I am getting attached to these fuckers and all their problems. Makes me seem almost normal. Let's do a roll call, shall we?_

_First up, we have our enigmatic Kiku Honda who actually isn't as big of a dweeb as I thought. Perfect is as perfect does, so naturally he's fucked six ways to Sunday. Treatment is as follows: need to get him shitfaced because guy needs to let loose and then need to get him to man-up about his study-buddy fuck-buddy. Reason for problems? Parents, like always._

_Second, Alfred Jones, resident all-star athlete who looks like he stepped out of a fucking Tommy Hilfiger ad, and is here for mysterious reasons that aren't really that mysterious. Doesn't this jackass know that Feli is my baby brother's best friend? Whatever, he probably doesn't. Anyway, the guy has everything but confidence in himself and depends on what others think of him, probably the way a zombie relies on brains. Reason for his problems? Fucking parents and his solution is sitting across from him because I could seriously cut the sexual tension between those fuckers with a knife._

_Third, Arthur Kirkland, our charming delinquent smarty-pants who's got way too many issues to even list. Surprisingly though, he just might be the least fucked up one here. He definitely is the only one I know doesn't deserve to be here and yet always is, in the great Circle of Detention. Man has got a fucking Vulcan death grip and has a dangerous knowledge of hand-to-hand combat skills. Reason for his problems? His parents, though not in the same vein as everyone else. He's got two solutions, one is getting the fuck outta dodge the minute he can and the other is sitting across from him because again with the tension and the knife cutting._

_Fourth, we have Elizaveta Hedevary, seriously smoking hot, greatest tits known to man, and possibly the most repressed bitch to walk this earth. I can't even begin with her—Mommy and Daddy Issues, Rich Girl Issues, Mean Girl vs. Who I Really Am Issues, I Just Wanna Be Loved Issues, the list goes fucking on. She's not a moron, which both helps and hurts her because it probably kills her brain to have to act the way she does, but she still chooses to be the Head Bitch in Charge so brain cells may have started to die out. Reason for her problems? A little bit of society and a lot of her, ding ding ding! Parents strike again. I'd say the solution to her problem is my dick…no, actually, I'm sticking with that. Well, and probably a good look in the mirror that doesn't involve reapplying lip gloss. But mostly, I think my dick would work out a lot of her stress._

_And last but never least, we've got me, __Gilbert B__eilschmidt, all around nut-case and grade-A example of parental failure. I know my own problems so fuck listing them and I know the reasons too—Poor Little Rich Boy Syndrome and Unloved Son Problems which are both brought on from a bad case of 'what is parental compassion' parents. I have no fucking idea what my own solution would be, but I suspect it will probably involve drugs and massive amounts of therapy in my future. Or, you know, a decent lawyer._

* * *

Vernon Germania hated Saturday detentions. With a fiery passion.

Part of him knew he should check in on the hellions (God only knew what the Gilbert had gotten up to in his absence), but the larger part of him, the part that resented the headmistress for having these foolish weekend detentions, just didn't care enough. He had a good book, some fresh fruit to snack on, and he wasn't looking at Arthur Kirkland and his smug, know-it-all smirk (made worse by the fact that he probably really did know it all). He was happier this way.

And if the school caught on fire, he'd know who to blame.

TBC…

* * *

Note: Sorry for the delay—I blew out my knee and it sucked. The obligatory sex chapter. Without any actual sex—sorry bout that.


	5. Scene Five

Fic: Think We Are  
Genre: humor, angst of the teenage variety, pining, the usual High School Tropes  
Pairings: USUK, Prussia/Hungary, Japan/Taiwan (brief)  
Rating: M  
Warnings:Language to the max, sex/crude language, potentially offensive POVs and nicknames, past character deaths (noncanon), bullying, brief 'slut shaming,' passing mentions of drug abuse, and teenagers(because they need their own warning).  
Summary:We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did *was* we think you're crazy to make an essay telling you who we **thinkwe are**. You see us as you want to see us...

Note:The Hetalia/Breakfast Club fusion everyone wanted apparently! Enjoy,and drop a line if you care to let me know what you thought. Probably my fav chapter of the bunch, save the last one. Oh yeah, this is done guys so expect weekly updates :)

* * *

Think We Are

Scene Five

"_When you grow up, your heart dies."_ – Allison, _The Breakfast Club_ (1985)

_**A Snippet of Arthur**_

_When Arthur was ten years old, his parents were killed in a car 'accident'. Accident was really more of a misnomer because it sure as fuck wasn't an accident. A drunk driver speeding through a red light at fifty miles per hour, broadsiding his parents' car as it was crossing the intersection wasn't an accident. Having to listen to a sad-faced police officer explain to him, Peter who had only been six, and sixteen year old Patrick what had happened, that his parents had been in an 'accident' and were gone—Arthur grew to hate that word, accident. His parents being killed wasn't an accident, and the worst part of it all, was the drunk who'd hit them, he'd gotten himself a good lawyer and a good deal. He was already out of prison and living his life while Arthur's parents were buried in the ground._

_Arthur was the youngest-middle child of five—Liam, Rhys, Patrick, him and Peter. His mum had really wanted a girl, but gave up after Peter (though there were some truly memorable pictures of Pete dressed up in some frilly dresses). As brothers go, Arthur had barely known Liam and Rhys growing up as they'd both been graduated and in college by the time he was seven, but they'd gotten along well enough and their family was close. His parents' death changed all that. Patrick graduated and left home without looking back; he called occasionally to give updates and on birthdays but that was it. Rhys had flat out disappeared and Peter had been too young to understand why his family was broken and became the world's biggest brat. And Liam—Liam got stuck with guardianship over his two younger brothers and he made no qualms about the fact that he didn't want it. Arthur remembered him as a bit of a teaser and bully when he'd been little, but he'd never been purposely mean—he was now._

_He had a hard time blaming Liam sometimes. He'd had his whole life ahead of him and then he was stuck raising his two brothers, putting his whole life on hold and trying to somehow grieve for his dead parents at the same time. It was hard not to blame him though, when he was drunk and yelling and Arthur ended up with a fat lip and pinning Liam down to the floor to stop his rampage._

_Arthur's entire world had been split apart in one night—and it was hard to try to move on when everywhere he looked, he saw reminders of what he'd lost. When he'd hit middle school and had to constantly hear people complaining about their parents, it was too much to ask that he ignore them because they had no idea what it was like without them and if they walked in his shoes for a minute, they wouldn't take them for granted. He started acting out and it was probably then that people started to use words like 'dangerous' and 'damaged' and 'delinquent' around him. _

_Sometimes, just watching Alfred and his family together—it made him so awful he was literally sick to his stomach. He knew that made up a large reason why he didn't stay friends with Alfred when he'd been younger—it just took his older self a while to recognize his younger self's self-defense method was all. _

* * *

"Sometimes, I really hate playing football." Alfred wasn't sure where the confession came from, but there it was, out in the open to a bunch of people he hardly knew. Funny thing was that he didn't feel weird saying it to them—for whatever reason, there seemed to be this unspoken understanding between all of them that whatever was said during detention would be like the Vegas mantra. Whatever happens in detention, stays in detention, or something like that. Not that Gilbert was the most trustworthy person in Alfred's mind, but even he seemed to be on the same page. He met Arthur's eyes for a second and didn't see any kind of meanness or jerk-off attitude, which might've been there about four hours ago.

"Why would you hate playing football? You're king of this school because you play it and you're good." Arthur adjusted his legs so that they were folded under him Indian style, and Alfred watched them because, hello, the pants Arthur was wearing were tight and yeah. Great view and stuff—he blinked and looked back up to his face, hoped he hadn't noticed the staring because that would've been embarrassing.

"It's just—there's a lot of pressure that comes with that though, you know?" He looked down at his jeans and picked at some fraying threads. That was going to be a hole soon. "The comic books have it right—people love a hero, but not as much as they love watching a hero fall. The minute I screw something up they'll all be trying to tear me down."

"Well," Arthur began. "Maybe you should have friends who aren't so shallow and like you at face value alone. Or maybe you should not care so much as to whatever else the wankers at this school think of you because the only opinion of you that really matters is your own."

"Arthur, that's naïve, especially for you." Elizaveta had calmed down a little following her confession about Roderich and Gilbert's reaction to it. She'd even scooted her chair closer to Alfred's to be closer to everyone else, and wasn't sneering every time she talked anymore. Alfred decided he liked this Elizaveta, the honest version who was so much better—this was the same girl who had hugged him when he'd freaked out at her and confessed he didn't want to hook up with her. He wished she was this girl more than the front, the bitchy Ice-Queen who put everyone else down so that you didn't see the cracks in her own armor. "Of course other people's opinions of you matter—that's how the real world works. College may do blind auditions, but when you go out and look for a job, whether you get it or not entirely has to do with someone else's opinion of you."

Arthur glared at her, but it wasn't as bad as the ones he'd been giving her earlier. Alfred took that as a good sign, a sign that maybe he was warming up to Elizaveta (and him by association) just a little bit. He wasn't exactly sure why he wanted Arthur to warm up to them, because as much as he liked the guy, he valued his pride and wasn't about to go confessing how he felt after a couple of hours of civility. But—it still felt nice, the hope that maybe his feelings wouldn't just be smooshed under Arthur's steel-toed boot. Gilbert snorted a little from where he was laying down on the top of his desk, head hanging of the side so that he was looking at them upside-down; his face was alternating between pink and purple from the blood rushing to his head.

"Well, that's a very bleak and depressing opinion." Gilbert grinned at Elizaveta who rolled her eyes but didn't react any more violently than that. "Tell me, has all the vast and worldly experiences in your seventeen years of living taught you that or have you been reading too many beauty columns again?"

"Being popular at this school has taught me that."

"Then I have a question for you." Arthur turned and arched his brow at Elizaveta; Alfred could see the full stretch of his neck when he did that and fuck was that distracting. "Would you rather not have to worry about others' opinions of you, or do you view it as a necessary burden you deal with in order to remain popular?"

"In a perfect world, I'd choose the first option, but I'm a realist. I'd choose the latter."

"Then you're choosing to conform to what you think society has taught you before you've even given yourself a chance to see if you'd succeed without the public's opinions of you." Arthur smirked down at her and damn if that wasn't sexy as hell. Annnnd Alfred really needed to reign in the ogling; he had a feeling he was verging on full-on creeper status. "You're correct that when looking for a job, it matters that your future employer believes you are dependable and hard-working and whatever else fucking cliché you can think of to exemplify a good worker, but you can be all of those things while still not caring what people may think of who you are as a person. Being a productive member of society has nothing to do with the sort of person you are and the friends you make because of it."

"And how many friends do you have, Arthur? How does your own theory pan out?" She had more bite to her tone than before, but she was still in control.

He huffed a small laugh and smiled (literally he _smiled _not smirked, and it was gorgeous on him) at her. "I'm not talking about myself as the example. I'm talking about Alfred."

Alfred blinked (because damn it, he was staring at the smile and yeah—he was a creeper) and looked up, startled, at Arthur. "Me?"

"Well, you're the one who starting this thread of conversation, and let's be honest, out of all of us here, save perhaps Kiku, you're the least likely to be a bugger just because you can." Arthur shrugged at him and looked up at the ceiling. Alfred really hoped he was really seeing a bit of red crawl up the side of Arthur's face and it wasn't just his wishful thinking. "Perhaps Elizaveta is right and the majority of us do play our parts and mold ourselves to garner the sort of admiration we think we deserve, but you've always been a bit of an odd one. So, if you're unhappy with the pressure that comes with your position as most popular on campus, change it. Be friends with who you really want to be friends with and enjoy football and whatever else you love again. Fuck what anyone else thinks."

Alfred's mouth dropped open, but he didn't have any kind of reply to give so he snapped it shut. On the one hand, Arthur's words made him feel good about himself, like he really could do what Arthur believed he could do and just say 'fuck it' to everyone he'd surrounded himself with over the past three years and just be friends with people he actually _liked_ again. People like Kiku, and Toris, and Ludwig, and Jake and…and maybe Arthur and it would all still be okay. But. On the other hand, the hand that was a lot louder lately, the only thing he could think about was Feliciano's tear-stained face and how his teammates had cheered him on and—he wasn't as good of a person as everyone seemed to still think of him as. Even Arthur. And he felt like a fraud for letting them think he was still a good guy.

"I—yeah, maybe." The words sounded weak to even him and Alfred smiled briefly before he went back to studying the almost-hole in his jeans. He could feel Arthur's stare on him, could feel the itch he had to say something else to Alfred, but in the end, he just sighed and Alfred was glad he resisted the urge to look up at his face.

They all went silent for a few minutes before Gilbert blew out a noisy, bored sigh and Alfred looked up at him, where he'd flipped himself around on the desk so he was right-side up again. "Well, you guys sure know how to kill a conversation. If you ask me, you all need to loosen up a little—anybody up for a field trip to my locker because I have just the thing to help with that."

"I'm not helping you grab your weed, Gilbert," Arthur sighed. "You tried to sneak it in last time, Germania caught you, and he sat in the room with us the rest of the afternoon."

"Yeah, but this time it's not like he can see us actually lighting up or anything." Gilbert grinned winningly at all of them and hopped to his feet. "Come on, live a little—Honda, I know you at the very least could use a hit. You've looked constipated since you came in this morning."

"I really don't think I looked like I was—"

"Go get it yourself if you really want it, Gilbert. I'm not going this time." Arthur looked pretty cute when he pouted. Yeah, he looked cute and hot most of the time, but it was_ really_ cute when he pouted.

"How—how much do you have?" Alfred swung around to gape at Elizaveta and how interested she looked in joining Gilbert. "It wouldn't be dangerous or anything, would it?"

"Course not, princess," Gilbert grinned. "Just enough for a small hit each, or a little bit more if Kirkland wants to keep being a stick in the mud. It'll be out of your system by the time your parentals pick you up. Cross my heart."

Elizaveta seemed to weigh out his promise before she shrugged and rose to join him; Arthur rolled his eyes and swore under his breath. "Fine—I'm already in detention, might as well be stuck here for something a little more impressive than cutting fifth period to shop. Alfred? You coming?"

Alfred stared at them, caught the edges of Arthur's judging eyes, before he shrugged and got up to join them. "Uh, sure—not to the smoking or anything, although that sounds, um, but it'd be nice to stretch my legs so, uh, yeah, I'll come too."

"Oh bloody hell."

"And Honda, how about it? Live a little bit and walk on the wild side for once in your life." Gilbert waggled his brows at Kiku, who looked torn between wanting to stay and intrigued as to what he'd be like a little high. Alfred could work with that.

"Come on, Kiku, think of it like an experiment. Wouldn't it be kind of interesting to see how it affects motor functions and thought processes and not just read about from second-hand pamphlets?" Alfred pled his case and eventually, Kiku nodded, but looked like he might've signed his death warrant in doing so.

"Oh fine, if you're all going to join Gilbert in this insanity, I have no choice but to come along—if only to make sure you lot don't end up getting turned around in this school after hours. I'm not spending the rest of my Germania-free detention stuck with him breathing down my neck." Arthur frowned at them, and Alfred couldn't help but grin as he sidled up next to him and crossed his arms over his chest. "Also, you're all fucking idiots, or the record."

Gilbert snorted and peeked out the library doors in the back. "Noted."

* * *

_**A Snippet of Kiku**_

_I know I really shouldn't be doing this._

_But—but I've spent my life doing only what I'm supposed to do and it's because I was trying to maintain my grade point average that I'm even here, because I've spent my entire life not having fun to be perfect instead. And it's impossible to be perfect. _

_And…maybe I don't want to be that anymore. Maybe I want to try being me, Kiku Honda, a brilliant student who doesn't have to be a prodigy or a genius, because let's face it, those titles probably go to Arthur anyway. I shouldn't have to worry about being so successful and perfect in high school—I should be living and messing up._

_I shouldn't have done what I did to land here in detention. I shouldn't have let my drive to be perfect control my actions and blur the lines between wrong and right. I should have accepted the grade I received on that stupid lamp project and been happy I didn't completely fail, because it's fine to not be the best at everything. I shouldn't have let my father convince me that a delinquent like Kirkland didn't deserve to be valedictorian over me, because actually, I think he does. I shouldn't have gotten so wrapped up in the future I forgot to live in the now—and I think maybe indulging in this useless, dangerous curiosity might help me find my path again. _

_It's peculiar how things that once seemed so important can become pointless in the span of an hour, if surrounded by the right people. Even if they're pointless just for a moment, in that moment, you are free._

* * *

Alfred wasn't exactly sure what he thought would happen if they were caught, but he was thinking it now. He really didn't want to do a repeat trip to detention and face having to look at his parents' faces full of disappointment again—this was supposed to be a one-stop kind of deal and now he was thinking that they all should've listened to Arthur before and just stayed in the damn library. Because now they were trying to sneak down the halls, most of which were closed off, as they tried to avoid Germania, who chose the worst possible moment to take a leak. Or whatever it was that he was doing wandering the school. Alfred didn't really care if he was snooping at permanent records, he just wanted him to get the fuck back in his office so they could sneak back into the library without getting caught.

"I told you, you fucking wanker, I told you that we should've just bloody well stayed in the library!" Arthur hissed at them as he peeked over the lockers and down the next hall, his head snapped back quick as a hiccup, signaling that Germania was in fact, down that hall. Alfred peeked for himself to see what—seriously, he was getting water from the drinking fountain? That jackass.

"Well, we didn't and would you shut the fuck up! If I wanted to fucking lecture I'd listen to my mom half the time she shouts at me." Gilbert grumbled and glared at the lockers opposite them.

"All of you, be quiet, he'll hear you!" Elizaveta whispered hurriedly. Her face was calmer than the rest of theirs and she was tapping her foot impatiently against the floor. "I told you, we should cut up through the freshmen social studies hall. The student council office is there and we have a door that leads around the cafeteria and back to the library."

"And I told you, that hallway is fucking locked up," Gilbert growled. He and Elizaveta stared angrily at each other until Alfred had to look away because if they were about to start humping each other, he really didn't want to see that.

"We could cut through the chemistry labs," Kiku suggested softly. Everyone turned their attention on him and instead of ducking his head and caving in on himself, his spine straightened tall. He even gave them a small smile that made him look a lot less like a tax accountant. "The labs are all connected to one another through the supply office, and each lab has a door to that office—Arthur, you said the junior science hall was open, the one on the way to the teacher's lounge?"

Arthur nodded and Alfred felt a flutter of hope in his stomach—he really, really didn't want detention next weekend. Kiku nodded and continued. "Then the junior chem lab will get us to the library, and we can get to the junior chem lab through the sophomore one, which is done the hall to the right."

"You mean the one Germania is currently imitating a camel in?" Gilbert whispered back harshly.

Kiku shrugged and gave Gilbert a 'what-can-you-do' look. "I didn't say the plan was perfect, but logically, he can't stay in that hallway forever."

"What we need is a distraction," Elizaveta huffed. "And I don't know about you, but the only distraction I can think of is the five of us."

"Or—just one of us." Arthur smirked up at Gilbert. "Come on, now, old boy, this was your idea. Go be the grand hero for once."

Gilbert opened his mouth to probably argue back, but Elizaveta cut him off with a hand on his shoulder and blinking up at him with wide, pleading eyes. Damn—girls were so not fair with that look. "Please, Gil? You already have detention next week and you would be the greatest distraction out of all of us."

Gilbert narrowed his eyes at her and huffed, but Alfred could see he was going to agree. What he didn't see was that he would dip Elizaveta dramatically, stuff his weed into her jacket, and kiss her smack dab on the mouth before twirling her away and running off down the hall, singing at the top of his lungs. "For luck, princess, and hold onto that for me. _Ba-ra-ahahah, Roma-roma romama, Gag oh lala, want your bad romance..."_

They all crouched down (even Elizaveta, who was touching her lips a little dazedly) and waited for Germania to start cursing before taking off after Gilbert. Kiku waited until he was sure that Germania wasn't going to turn around before he got up and lead the way to the sophomore chem lab. The door was locked, but Arthur pushed forward and fiddled around with the door, using the metal key-thing he'd taken off the library doors. He got the lock and pushed it open with a little smirk and wave, his eyes lingering on Alfred a little before following him inside, where they followed Kiku to the supply office door (Alfred could feel Arthur's eyes on him and it was really, really distracting). Kiku reached into his pockets and pulled out his keys, searching until he found on that opened up the supply office.

"You have a key to the school?" Alfred stared, impressed beyond belief because that was awesome.

"It's a key to the supply office for the chemistry labs, and I only have it because I'm the president of the Science club." Kiku looked a little embarrassed because it wasn't just Alfred who was looking at him impressed; so were Arthur and Elizaveta.

"It's still a key to someplace in the school! Dude, that's pretty badass." Alfred grinned and Kiku returned it as he opened the supply office and they all slipped inside, Alfred trailing and closing the door behind him, mindful to lock it.

"Follow me, the office is cramped and there's a lot of glass in here—usually, there's only one person in this office at a time, not four." Kiku navigated them through the narrow pathways in between the shelves and Alfred was careful to keep his elbows from jutting out and hitting something. Arthur stepped on something that made him swear and flail a little and he tilted to the side, losing his balance; Alfred reached out and grabbed a hold of his arm to level him out. Once stable, Arthur turned back and looked at him; Alfred still kept a hold on his arm.

"Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem." He grinned at him and, strangely enough, Arthur sort-of grinned back, which was awesome because that was probably the first honest grin he'd given him in years. And maybe it was the thrill of sneaking around school and the potential danger they were in for getting into more trouble (and maybe a little bit of the aftermath of Gilbert and Elizaveta's Hollywood movie kiss back in the hall), but Alfred really wanted to lean forward and kiss him. Like, really bad, bad enough that he even started to a little because wowza were Arthur's eyes really green in the soft, emergency lighting in the supply office. Arthur watched him, eyes wide and full of something that looked like it could be anticipation, and holy shit he was tilting his chin up a little and if that didn't meant he wanted to kiss Alfred, he'd eat his own shorts. This was it, this was when the whole teenage fantasy of kissing the childhood crush turned school badass came true and—

"Hey, lovebirds, hurry up! Gilbert didn't buy us forever you know!" And Alfred was going to kill Elizaveta. He leaned back and glared at her from over Arthur shoulder, at her smug, know-it-all expression and the arch of her perfectly groomed eyebrow. Arthur cleared his throat and Alfred dropped his arm like it was on fire; he rubbed the back of neck a little sheepishly and tried not to meet Arthur's eyes. Elizaveta huffed at them and followed out the newly opened door after Kiku; Alfred just wanted the floor to swallow him up because this was fucking embarrassing.

"I guess we should, um, you know. Follow them. Out."

"Probably. Alfred, look at me. I'm sure I'm more fascinating than the stale gum stuck to the floor." Alfred looked up and didn't see any of the mocking annoyance or disgusted sneering he'd been imagining. Instead, Arthur was just watching him, a little red in the cheeks and looking a hell of a lot younger than anyone with piercings should probably look. "I don't—I think there are some things we need to discuss. About, well, this."

Arthur motioned between them at that and it was a little adorable when he bit his bottom lip and looked up at Alfred through the mess of his hair. He nodded and shrugged shyly back. "Yeah, I think we do—I thought you hated me."

Arthur sighed and ran a nervous hand through his hair. "I never—it was never hate, I just—"

"Seriously, you guys, you've past the time for kissing! Hurry the hell up and come on! We need to be back in the library when Germania brings Gilbert back!" Elizaveta glared at them with every ounce of bitchiness she possessed (which was a lot) before her head disappeared from the doorway again. Arthur swore under his breath again and started making his way out, Alfred following close behind with a groan. Because they had been having a moment back in that office, a good moment that Alfred was probably not going to get back because he knew the minute they were back in the library, Arthur was going to pretend like this had never happened and go back to being a dick and—

"Later. We're finishing this conversation later, all right?" Arthur turned and murmured the words just for Alfred, still wearing that soft look on his face that made Alfred's stomach do the tango. Alfred grinned and nodded back excitedly.

"Later. Definitely later."

Arthur huffed a laugh and Alfred may or may not have given himself a couple of air pumps in victory as he left the supply office (except that he, you know, totally did).

* * *

_**Another Snippet of Arthur**_

_It's funny, how things work out sometimes. How things or ideas that seemed completely unrealistic or out of reach can sometimes be the easiest to achieve, if given the right environment. Arthur still has trouble believing that but there are moments where that truth smacks him right in the face so hard that he can't ignore it._

_This is one of those moments. _

_And, it may terrify him, but there's something more there._

_It's a funny thing how quick love can sneak up on you._

_TBC…_

* * *

_Reviews are appreciated!  
_


	6. Scene Six

Fic: Think We Are  
Genre: humor, angst of the teenage variety, pining, the usual High School Tropes  
Pairings: USUK, Prussia/Hungary, Japan/Taiwan (brief)  
Rating: M  
Warnings:Language to the max, sex/crude language, potentially offensive POVs and nicknames, past character deaths (noncanon), bullying, brief 'slut shaming,' passing mentions of drug abuse, and teenagers(because they need their own warning).  
Summary:We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did *was* we think you're crazy to make an essay telling you who we **think we are**. You see us as you want to see us...

Note:The Hetalia/Breakfast Club fusion everyone wanted apparently! Enjoy,and drop a line if you care to let me know what you thought.

Also, I apologize in advance. You'll know what.

* * *

Think We Are

Scene Six

"_I'm a fucking idiot because I can't make a lamp?"  
__"__No. You're a genius because you can't make a lamp." _Brian Johnson and John Bender, _The Breakfast Club_ (1985)

_**A Snippet of Gilbert**_

_The kicker is that his parents weren't even the huge fuck-ups; just he was. _

_Gilbert had been born into privilege and had never wanted for much, and what he did want for he usually got if he worked hard or if his parents were feeling indulgent. His parents were successful imports from Germany who settled in America to have their family after they'd achieved their financial goals. Gilbert had nannies growing up, but it wasn't like his parents were absent from his life—they were just an older, muted presence who didn't have the energy that a kid his age needed. Plus, they had his little brother to take care of—Ludwig had been a sickly baby and had needed constant attention, and Gilbert liked the thought of being a big brother, so it had never mattered to him._

_Things only started to change as he got older. Ludwig got better and in getting better, he started to show all the ways he was different from Gilbert. Gilbert had always had attention problems and struggled to maintain his grades. Ludwig did not. Gilbert was always sneaking into the neighbor's yard and tying things to her cat's tail and causing mischief. Ludwig did not. Gilbert was pale and looked like a ghost with his wispy hair and pale blue eyes. Ludwig looked like he belonged in some magazine and was all golden and blond and tall. Somewhere along the line, Gilbert started to become the sickly one, not Ludwig, and it was about then that Gilbert started at Hetalia Academy, the same school his father had attended as an exchange student. _

_Gilbert didn't resent his brother for being better and brighter than he was (at least, not all the time), but he thinks it was because he was so much better and so much brighter that Gilbert started to do things that made him more than just Ludwig's shadow. Being his antithesis wasn't ideal, but Gilbert had learned you had to work with the cards you'd been dealt early on in life. And being the 'screw-up, basket-case' older brother wasn't so bad, once he found out he was actually happy with his role. It was nice to be heard, and infuriating the 'civilized folk' was really just an added bonus._

_There were times though, where he wished that his parents still paid attention to him beyond their careful disdain and disappointment. Times he wished his parents hadn't been business first and foremost and left family second, because then, maybe, he wouldn't have been written off as the family black sheep like a transaction gone sour. Times where he wished he didn't cause his little brother so much stress, because despite all the shit Gilbert's done over the years, Ludwig still idolized him in some sense and he hated how their parents clearly favored him over Gilbert. Times where he wished he could just sit still for once, instead of pulling everything that tried to cage him closer to his fucked-up head._

_Sure, there were times—mostly, though, he just wanted to see how much the world would let him push and laughed loud so everyone could hear._

* * *

They all made it back to the library without incident, following Kiku's sure-footed lead until they're all sitting back at their desks, but Arthur's head hadn't stopped buzzing since they left the supply office.

Alfred was sitting down and looked just as tense and coiled as Arthur knew he felt himself and while Arthur was really trying to cut back on his smoking, he wanted a fag really bad right then. The smoke and nicotine helped clear his head when it got too bogged down with thoughts and memories and Arthur had way too many thoughts sprinting through his head after nearly kissing Alfred in the small, cramped office. Thoughts that were yelling how much of an idiot he was, thoughts that were demanding why this hadn't happened sooner, thoughts that were questioning why the hell Alfred even liked him enough to kiss him, and thoughts that wanted him to climb over his desk, slide into Alfred's lap and snog the fucking hell out of him. He rubbed at his temple and was saved from embarrassing himself by the arrival of Germania and Gilbert, the latter being led by a firm grip through the doors and then tossed towards his desk.

"It appears that your classmate found it amusing to break into the gym, steal some tennis rackets, and try playing basketball with them." Germania was frowning deep at all of them, as if he was trying to figure out if it had been any of their idea to get Gilbert to do that. "As I'm sure is no surprise to you, you will be without his antics for the rest of the detention."

Elizaveta tensed up and Arthur didn't need to see her face to know that she didn't like what Germania had said—what he was honestly a little surprised was how _that_ had even happened between the pair of them at all. Sure, he could see that Gilbert had obviously been trying to get a rise out of her the same way a little boy pushed his crush down on the playground, but he hadn't considered for a moment that Elizaveta Hedervary would actually _return_ the feelings. Arthur shook his head and pressed at his temple harder; it was the fucking Saturday detention that was making them all barmy. There was something about being cooped up with each other that was changing how they saw one another. He wasn't sure how happy he was about that (he didn't want to see everyone outside of the role he'd given them, what they'd adopted for their peers, parents, and society), but he couldn't deny it was happening.

"Excuse me, sir?" Kiku asked, softly. Germania turned to him and looked surprise that Kiku was saying anything at all (not that Arthur could blame him—Kiku had barely spoken until they'd absconded for Gilbert's weed). "I know that Gilbert left when he shouldn't have, but I think removing him from the library will only serve as a reward."

They all blinked at Kiku, Germania included and he tilted his head towards Kiku in confusion. "Explain, Mr. Honda."

"Well," Kiku started with just the right amount of hesitancy. Arthur would've smiled and laughed at how crafty the little nerd was if he wasn't trying to keep off Germania's radar right then. "Well, before Gilbert left, he was yelling about how he didn't want to stay here with us anymore and—and that he'd rather be in solitary isolation than stick around with, well, he called us some inappropriate names, Mr. Germania."

Gilbert's eyes lit up and he glared at Kiku and jerked a little in Germania's hold. "Shut up, you stupid prick!"

"Mr. Beilschmidt, desist at once." Germania glared at him and then appraised Kiku as if he was going to possibly end up with a beat up student if he left Gilbert with the rest of them. Obviously, he decided that he didn't much care as long as he didn't have to monitor Gilbert, so he nodded and steered Gilbert towards his desk. "Very well, thank you, Mr. Honda. Looks like your little plan didn't work out too well, Mr. Beilschmidt. I think I'll let you enjoy the rest of the afternoon with your peers."

Gilbert grumbled and sank down into his seat with a convincing amount of disappointment. Germania glared at all of them once more before storming out and slamming the door behind him. As soon as he was gone, Gilbert perked back up and gave Kiku a big, shit-eating grin. "Well, didn't know you had it in you, Honda, but not bad. Thanks."

Kiku turned and nodded at Gilbert and Arthur wondered how much freer he looked than before, how much happier he looked. There was honestly something wrong with having detention all day on Saturdays—it was doing things to their heads. "You're welcome. Thank you for earlier."

Gilbert laughed and got up from his seat, stretching his arms up and over his head before he turned and sauntered (seriously, he bloody well _sauntered _like a tom cat in heat) towards Elizaveta. She must not have minded it though, because she was looking up at him coyly though her eyelashes—girls, honestly. Thank Christ he didn't have any sisters and liked cock; Arthur was never going to understand how girls worked. Arthur glanced over at Alfred again and really wished he had kept the word cock out of his head because now that was all he was thinking about—bollocks.

"So, still got my doobage, princesss?" Elizaveta rolled her eyes but reached into her jacket and pulled out the bag.

"I can't believe you used the word 'doobage,' Gilbert. That went out of style in the 1980s." She smiled up at him as his fingers brushed over hers longer hand was necessary to grab the proffered baggie.

"Some words are timeless, no matter what you think," he responded. "Now, I'm going to have a fucking smoke, and in the honor of our Fellowship of the Detention, you are all welcome to join me. Except you Arthur, since you were a disapproving shit before. But, I guess if you promise to stop being a lameass wuss, I could change my mind."

"Jog on, you tosser." Gilbert shrugged and reached into his backpack for some rolls and his lighter. Then, with a jaunty wave, he was headed off towards the back of the library, a place Arthur knew smelled permanently of pot because of how many students lit up back there. Their librarian (bless her, honestly) was a bit gullible and hadn't quite cottoned on when it came to students' voluntary activities in the library. It was a shame, but at least the books they were damaging and staining with smoke were the outdated encyclopedias that hadn't been updated since 2005 and were therefore utterly useless to anyone.

Elizaveta glanced around the room before she got up and followed Gilbert back, which wasn't a surprise (well, now it wasn't). Kiku hesitated for a moment, but soon followed after her with his newfound adventurous streak shining through—that was a bit surprising. Kiku Honda going from straight-laced honors student who didn't even litter (Arthur had seen him walk across the lunch quad to pick up a napkin that had blown past him…the napkin hadn't even been his) to pot-smoking, detention cutting student was a little jarring. He shook his head and watched Kiku disappear down the hall. Which left him and Alfred alone. They glanced at each other and Alfred tilted his head back where the others had gone in silent question.

"So, um, did you wanna—?"

Arthur shook his head and finally gave into the urge to get out of his desk and slide into the seat beside Alfred. "I hate the smell of pot, and besides I believe we have a talk to have, don't we?"

Alfred grinned a little shyly (and God above did it make him look like Arthur's memories of him) and nodded, reaching over and taking Arthur's hand in his own. "Yeah, I guess we do."

* * *

_**A Snippet of Elizaveta**_

_If anyone had asked me five hours ago if I'd be smoking weed with Gilbert Beilschmidt and Kiku Honda, snickering about the likelihood of Alfred Jones and Arthur Kirkland, who is still an asshole, making out on top of the library desks now that we've left them alone, I would have probably thought they'd gone crazy. And would've said something cruel too, I'm sure. Because I'm aware of my own faults enough to know that I'm a bitch about 80% of the time. But, not the point. The point is I would've never pictured or even given credence to me being in detention, smoking pot, and discussing our fellow detentionees' sex lives and having fun doing so. _

_And yet, here I am. _

_Here I am surrounded by four people I was convinced I hated five hours ago and now I've told them some of my deepest secrets and fears. I've even kissed one of them. _

_And it was such a good kiss, the kind of kiss I used to imagine myself having when I was little and obsessed with Casablanca and how Humphrey Bogart kissed Ingrid Bergman. Because when he kissed her, it was with everything he had; all of his love, and anger, and sadness, and forgiveness all rolled up into one searing, passionate embrace that left his lady love swooning and weak-kneed. It was the sort of kiss that I've long since reconciled only existed in movies and fairytale books, but still, that's how Gilbert kissed me. And I'd be lying if I said I don't want to do it again. I do, I want to do it again so much that our lips are bruised and we're so drunk off each other that we start to lose everything else. And I want to do lots of things other than kissing too, though I don't know how much of that is the atmosphere talking but it feels like everything is a lot more possible than usual. Free—that's a good, descriptive word to sum up the atmosphere._

_Still, just because the atmosphere's making me freer than I usually allow, that doesn't mean I don't want to kiss Gilbert again (and other things). _

_Okay, enough of those thoughts, Liz. They're talking to you and you can't give all your cards away now, can you? "I'm sorry, zoning out—what did you ask?"_

_Gilbert and Kiku glance at each other and snicker (and wow it is really weird to watch Kiku snicker) before Gilbert scoots a little bit closer. Close enough that my knee his touching his and that really shouldn't feel as thrilling as it does. I'm blaming it on the drugs and teenage hormones. "I asked if this is your first time smoking, princess."_

_I smile at Gilbert and shake my head because honestly it isn't my first time. Last year, when I was still trying to convince Roderich to date me, there'd been this party and there'd been weed and everyone else was trying it and I wasn't about to bow out and give my friends a reason to mock me. You know, Arthur may be a dick but he probably had a point about choosing friends that actually like me—doing the simple thing however rarely works in the real world. I tap Gilbert's leg with my fingers before I realize what I'm doing, but he doesn't seem to mind so I don't stop. "I don't do it often though."_

_Gilbert laughed, a rich, throaty sound and I want to crawl closer and wrap myself up in that laugh. "Well, Honda here is a cherry. First time. You should feel honored that we're popping his Mary-Jane virginity. You like the hit, Honda?"_

_Kiku nods like he's surrounded by molasses and he grins more open than anything I've seen from him. "It's like lounging in the pool—things that don't matter aren't in my head."_

_Gilbert laughs again and he sounds like he's genuinely amused. "That's a good way to put it, Honda, I'll give you that."_

_Kiku nods and stares up at the ceiling before closing his eyes—he looks like he's meditating. Or like he's about to go to sleep. I laugh, though it comes out closer to a snort, and lean forward so my forehead can rest on Gilbert's shoulder. I can't remember the last time I felt this happy—it's a little ironic that it's happening in detention._

"_So," Gilbert starts. I blink up at him and wonder if his eyes are really blue underneath his red contacts. They look like they could be; I've always had a soft-spot for blue eyes. "Are you as surprised by that development as I am?"_

_He jerks his head back towards where we left Alfred and Arthur and I roll my eyes. "If by surprised you mean not at all, then yes, I am. They were always been closer than normal as kids—they're like those neighborhood kids that are friends for years and then fall I love, get married, have two kids and a dog and end up pissing everyone else off because they found each other so easy. I guess the only thing I'm surprised by is that it took them so long to begin with, but that's probably because Arthur's a dick."_

"_Or because his parents died."_

_I nod, hating the uncomfortable swell of pity I get every time someone reminds me that it's not as easy to hate Arthur Kirkland as I wish it was. "Or that."_

"_Maybe finding your 'soulmate' super young isn't all it's cracked up to be anyway—I mean, how much would it suck to see what someone was like as a kid, when everything is easier and you don't have to give a shit about anything besides whether you want macaroni or hot dogs for dinner, and then see them turn into something else. Something a whole lot more fucked up. You're stuck comparing the two versions stuck in your head for years and then eventually, it's a toss-up whether you end up hating each other or sickeningly in love, as you so eloquently pointed out."_

"_Everyone's fucked up, Gilbert. It's just a matter of degree and relativity." He looks down at me and one side of his lips turn up in what is most possibly the gentlest look I've ever seen on his face before. And then we're kissing again and I couldn't care less that Kiku is five feet away, sleep-meditating or whatever or that we're stuck in the middle of some epic love story between Alfred and Arthur or that Gilbert is the last sort of boy I should be kissing. I kiss him back and inhale the smoky air deep all the way until I feel like it's in my bones._

_I'm afraid I don't want this to end._

* * *

To Alfred's disappoint, Arthur really wanted to talk. Which was good and everything, but Alfred had kind of hoped that the talking could be either after or interspersed between some heavy making out. He kept his hands folded in front of him on the desk, where Arthur had settled across from him on the other side, and tried not to stare too obviously at him…or his lips. Alfred was pretty sure he was failing and failing hard, but Arthur either didn't notice or was being uncharacteristically kind and not mentioning it (Alfred was leaning towards the not mentioning it). They hadn't actually started talking, which was probably a big reason why Alfred felt so awkward just sitting there, playing with his hands and shooting looks up at Arthur every few seconds. Alfred wasn't quite sure where to start—they did sort of have a lot to cover, with the whole 'we-were-friends-for-years-then-your-parents-died-and-you-stomped-all-over-everyone-else-and-turned-in-to-a-really-sexy-asshole-that-apparently-wasn't-as-big-of-a-dick-as-everyone-thought-you-were' thing.

Alfred took a deep breath and blocked out the noticeable silence from the others, and decided to just bite the bullet. "So…"

Arthur snorted at that and Alfred scowled down because sure, not the best start but at least he broke their horribly charged and tense silence. Seriously, if they'd just started making out, it wouldn't be this bad and he was pretty sure that they'd both be in a better mood to talk about all their shit after. "Whatever, man, you're the one who said you wanted to talk and you're just like sitting over there a million miles away."

"This desk is barely three feet across, Alfred." Arthur looked like he was torn between smiling at him or being annoyed with him and fuck if it didn't make him look like a confused puppy. Or kitten. Or a confused baby animal of any kind and Christ, what was wrong with him? He needed to get a grip because he really shouldn't find everything Arthur did cute or hot. Really, he shouldn't—that was probably unhealthy in some way.

"Yeah, well, still feels weird just sitting here, staring at each other." Alfred crossed his arms and leaned back a little, tipping his chair back so it was balancing on the back legs with his foot flexing on the floor. Arthur sighed and he got up from his seat and walked over to Alfred's side, perching on the desk so that he was looking down at Alfred; he looked strangely reserved and more than a little cautious.

"This isn't easy for me to start but—I suppose we can start with the question whether you are looking for something beyond a fuck or not."

Alfred almost tipped backwards in the chair and the only reason he didn't was because Arthur's hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder before he went tumbling. He blinked up at him and wished he didn't feel a heartbroken as he did by how bluntly Arthur had asked that. "What I—fuck man, you got a hell of a way of saying stuff. Why would you—why would you think that the only thing I'm interested in was to bang you? I just—I mean I said earlier that I hadn't even—I don't know why I haven't before but I was obviously waiting for something, not just to have some one night stand!"

Arthur let go of his shoulder and his fingers tapped nervously across his thigh; Alfred had to focus to not look (and to not replace Arthur's fingers with his own). He looked really confused, like he couldn't quite figure out a math theorem when the answer was supposed to be simple. "So you've been waiting all this time and think that_ I'm_ a good idea?"

Alfred shrugged because he didn't think that was quite it but he didn't have another answer to give. He tried though. "I don't know. I don't know why it even matters that much because it's just sex and whatever but I—I don't want to just fuck you. I want more than that. Like, dating?"

Arthur tipped his head back and laughed, but it was this horrible, helpless laugh that made Alfred want to reach out and grab him before he pulled too far away. "Why would you want anything like that with me, Alfred? I think out of all the people I've mistreated over the years, because I can be a right tosser when I want to, the way I've treated you has been amongst my worst behavior."

"That wasn't—you haven't been that bad, and yeah, I'm still kinda pissed that you cut me out when we were kids, but I get that you were dealing with a whole lot of shit and—"

"You shouldn't make excuses for me, Alfred." His words were low and harsh; Arthur had turned completely away from him and his hands were clenched white. Alfred stared at him and felt like someone had punched him in the gut because none of that disgust or anger in Arthur's voice was directed at him. It was all for himself, and fuck it sounded like it'd been there for a while. "I'm not the child you used to play with anymore and you shouldn't keep thinking I am."

Alfred glared and pushed out of his seat; he moved so that he was standing in front of Arthur because he sure as fuck wasn't going to get avoided when Arthur was sitting right fucking there. "You know what, no, you don't get to chicken-shit out of this fucking conversation when this was all your idea in the first place! This is why I didn't want to have this out here, because I do know you, Arthur, and I know this is exactly how you always fucking act whenever you feel like you're getting threatened or whatever. Why is it so hard to think that I could really are about you just because you're a dick? I'm not the nicest guy either, nobody is all of the time, and you're not as big of an ass as you try to be—if you were, this entire day would've gone a lot differently."

Alfred was trying really hard not to yell because as much as he wanted to, he didn't really need the others (who were high yeah, but not deaf) hearing all of his and Arthur's dirty, proverbial laundry. But Arthur just—he made him so mad sometimes. When he'd been a kid and Arthur had yelled at him and pushed him away until eventually Alfred left, he'd been mad and hadn't really understood all of what was going on. It was hard for a kid to get what death could do to a person. As he got older, it changed gradually into something else that wasn't quite anger, at least not all the time. He got it better, got what losing your parents could do to you, and didn't like that Arthur became such a mean person, but he'd known deep down, even then, that a lot of the meanness was a front.

When Alfred was around nine, he'd accidentally broken a vase in Arthur's house. It wasn't a very nice looking vase (and over the years it got uglier and uglier in his head) and it had been in the stupidest spot near the hall, right where hyperactive nine year-olds like to run by, but still, he'd broken it. He had started crying when Arthur came up to see what had caused the noise and had blubbered about how he was going to get grounded and that he wouldn't be allowed over and a whole bunch of other crap. Arthur had just stared at the broken vase, silent, until his mom came around the corner, her face already set in a frown before she saw the mess on the floor. But, instead of telling the truth about what happened, Arthur smacked him on the arm and started yelling about how Alfred was a scaredy-cat just because _Arthur_ had knocked over the vase. He'd been mean and snotty and had convinced his mom that it had been him, not Alfred, who broke the vase, all while Alfred had sniffled at him, confused as to what had happened.

Later on, he found out that Arthur had been punished to do the yard work, and when he went over to help (because he felt bad Arthur had gotten in trouble instead of him, even if he had yelled at him a lot), Arthur had smiled at him shyly and told him he had just pretended to be mad to get him out of trouble. He had to be convincing, he'd told Alfred with as much conviction a ten year old could muster, and then thanked him for breaking the vase because it was 'a stupid old thing' anyway. No matter what Arthur did, no matter what how angry he acted or convinced everyone else he was, that memory stuck with Alfred and told him better. Arthur was an excellent actor and that hadn't changed very much as he got older—he'd just refined his technique.

"Listen I—I can't tell you why I want more than just some random hook-up or why being around you makes me feel weird or why it matters to me what you think about me or think about when you see me, but I know that it does. And I think that it might matter to you too, so, I'm gonna do what I wanted to do like twenty minutes ago and you are going to deal with it, or like punch me in the face if you really don't want to!"

And, with that, he leaned in and kissed Arthur.

TBC

* * *

Again, I am very sorry. Reviews are always appreciated!


	7. Scene Seven

Fic: Think We Are  
Genre: humor, angst of the teenage variety, pining, the usual High School Tropes  
Pairings: USUK, Prussia/Hungary, Japan/Taiwan (brief)  
Rating: M  
Warnings:** Flashback of what can be viewed as a hate-bashing - **Language to the max, sex/crude language, potentially offensive POVs and nicknames, past character deaths (noncanon), bullying, brief 'slut shaming,' passing mentions of drug abuse, and teenagers(because they need their own warning).  
Summary:We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did *was* we think you're crazy to make an essay telling you who we **think we are**. You see us as you want to see us...

Note:The Hetalia/Breakfast Club fusion everyone wanted apparently! We're here, the penultimate chapter!

* * *

Think We Are

Scene Seven

"_We're all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that's all." – _Andy Clark, _The Breakfast Club_ (1985)

_**A Snippet of Arthur**_

_He's kissing me. Alfred Jones is kissing me and I'm just sitting here like a fucking idiot. _

_I don't know where to put my hands which is ridiculous because if there's one thing I know how to do well it's this kissing business, but he just went for it and we were just arguing, har bloody har what else is new, and now I don't know where to put my fucking hands and I'm still just _sitting_ here. What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with him? Why is he even doing this—why does he even want to? Why can't I figure out where to put my hands and why the hell does it matter so much because I think this honestly might be the most I've ever panicked over snogging someone and what does that mean? Oh old boy, you know what it means. Everyone and their grandmother knows what it means—harlequin novels have been penning what it means to randy, bored housewives and longing teenagers for years now. _

_And it's terrifying because it feels too good and it feels right, as trite as that sounds._

_All right, hands are on his hips and I don't really remember doing that, but thank fucking Jesus they're at least doing something now—he's too eager and not entirely using his tongue appropriately so there's more mess than there should be and still I…I think…I think the existential crisis is done so why the hell am I still just sitting here? I've wanted this for a while now, so why am I stuck in my own head, wasting this opportunity?_

_Hands travel up from his hips to his neck and he makes a pleased noise as I adjust his head and start kissing back. He's quick to let me lead; I tilt his head and play with the hairs at the nape of his neck and I kiss him firm enough that it burns a little up my spine but not too much because we're not fucking alone. He's not jabbing his tongue around uselessly anymore; no now it's more fluid and matching pace with mine. He's a quick study and while it's clear that this isn't something he goes around doing all that often, he's not trying too hard or pretending to be anything he's not and that makes up for experience ninety-nine percent of the time. He crowds closer to me, slotting right in between my legs and it's hard to resist the urge to wrap them around his thighs and pull him closer, but I try to focus on how good his hands feel roaming my back, his fingertips pressing in at random intervals all along my spine and lower back. I try to focus on how warm his mouth his on mine and how every time his tongue dips inside, my stomach clenches and I tighten my grip on him because if I'm not careful, I can lose myself in this, in him. _

"_Jesus, Arthur," he gets out and his hands drift down from my back to my hips and he's squeezing like he wants to pull me forward but knows there's nowhere to go but off the edge of the desk and onto the floor. I'm not really proud of the noise I let out, some awful cross between a whine and a grunt. He doesn't seem to mind the sound though because he's swooping back in and his hands are dragging down my legs and squeezing over my kneecaps. Oh, fuck it—I wrap my legs around him and now he's just there, pressed all along from thigh to shoulder and it's absolutely brilliant. It also marks the first time I've been hard in the library which is a new experience I never thought I'd feather my cap with. He's hard too and it's his turn to make a highly incriminating noise as his cock presses up against mine and I swallow it up quick so that it stays with me. _

_We're taking the snog a bit too far because honestly, the others are just a few stacks away, high and maybe unaware but that's a hell of an assumption to make when Alfred and I are two layers of clothing away from fucking. I don't want to stop though—I've fucked up a lot of things in my life, both through my own fault and presumed assumptions from others but this feels right and I feel like someone I could be instead of someone I've turned into (whether that's because everyone expected it anyway or not is irrelevant I can admit). It's shit of course—you don't change your stripes because of a good snog, but that's what it feels like, kissing Alfred. It feels like a deep, clean breath of morning air after years of inhaling paint primer and ashes. It's heady and too much and ours. He's touching me with just the right amount of pressure to ground me but still soft enough to make me feel worth something. _

_I don't think I've been touched like this since my parents died._

"_So, ah, I think that—we should probably stop because this is about to get really embarrassing for me really fast." Alfred rushed the words out as I drift down and start going at his neck. I can't help it; I grin against his pulse point and halt my ministrations because only Alfred could manage to be incredibly flattering, endearing, and ridiculous all in one breath with his cock rocking up against mine. He's right anyway—it's about to get embarrassing for myself as well and the others are five fucking rows away. "Please don't laugh, I need some manly pride and I swear what I have will shrivel up and die if you laugh at me."_

_He can feel the smile against his skin, so I pull away so he can get a look at my face. "I'm not laughing at you—it's just, it's funny, what you said. And a legitimate issue I hadn't thought of myself and I'm surprised you got there before I did."_

_Alfred stares at me, dumbfounded, and then breaks out into the biggest, most pleased smile I've seen on him in a long time. "So, you're telling me that not only did I make you laugh, at like a joke, but I was also more observant than you and you're actually admitting to it?" _

_I narrow my eyes at him, but it's mostly a front, and Alfred smirks at me like he knows it. "Don't let it go to your head, it may inflate to biblical proportions and then you wouldn't be able to get your football helmet on, would you?"_

_He barks out a laugh and moves a little bit so that there's space between us, a necessary precaution as he pointed out, but his arms move up to drape over my shoulders. It brings us closer so that our chests are nearly touching, but still leaves our lower halves well-behaved. He smells a bit too strongly of whatever sandwich he ate last for lunch, something I didn't notice before because, well, I'd been distracted hadn't I, but underneath that, he smells clean and like Alfred. It's a good smell—I know I probably smell like ashes and toothpaste which wouldn't be very appealing to me, but he doesn't seem to mind. He's itching to say something, I can practically see the words dancing on his tongue, and suddenly I'm afraid of what it'll be. Good or bad. Because, what if I can't say what I need to and it ruins everything? Before he kissed me, I had been convinced I could talk him out of this and just ignore everything until I graduated and didn't have to look back._

_But, he did kiss me and now all I can think about is how much I could kiss him forever. Which, the thought makes me want to gag a little because that is awfully hackneyed, but it's the truth and it's not like he can hear my thoughts. _

"_So," he finally starts. "Are we like—did you only want fucking? Because, I don't know about you, but that was fucking awesome and I think that we'd be great together, even with all of our hang-ups and shitty history. But, but if you don't want this, I gotta know now."_

_He's looking at me so open. My tongue feels like it's screwed up in knots. "Alfred—I don't—it's not that—I'm graduating. In seven months."_

_Alfred shrugs as if that doesn't matter, which fuck him very much because it does, and I can feel his fingertips ghosting across the back of my neck. "Those sounded like excuses to me. Come on, Artie, give me an answer, either we're not doing this or we become something so incredibly awesome other people will look at us and be forced to just go 'day-um son-slash-girl' before getting all upset because they know they're not half as awesome like us."_

_There's a war going on in my head because on one hand I know what my answer should be. I know I should shrug him off and tell him nothing is happening—he'll get this horrible crestfallen look on his face that will feel like a punch in the gut and then he'll close back off, put up his 'whatever dude, I don't care' front and we'll go back to ignoring each other in the halls for the rest of the school year. I'll tell myself that this entire fucking day was just the result of being cooped up with strangers for over nine hours on a Saturday and I wasn't in the right mind to make any sort of logical decisions. And then, in seven months, I'll graduate and never have to look back at this fucking part of my life again. That's the right thing to do, the unselfish thing. Because he deserves better than me. _

_But, that's exactly what I know I'm not going to do because I'm too greedy and have lost too much; and even though that should teach me to keep everyone at arm's length, I have shit resistance when someone comes along and offers to actually make me feel wanted again. At least if that someone is Alfred._

"_I—all right." The words don't sound like my own. They sound too unsure, too quiet, and too much like I'm already in over my head. _

"_I'm sorry, what was that?" Alfred is grinning so I know he's just being an arse, but surprisingly, that makes me feel normal again, puts us back into a pattern that I know, and I'm able to smirk back and grip his chin, admittedly a little rough._

"_You bloody well heard me, you wanker."_

_His mouth kisses my fingers before he grabs them and tucks them under his chin instead. "Yeah, I did. And now that I have your verbal agreement, totally binding by the way, I feel like you should know that I'm probably going to be shitty at this and we're probably going to fight a lot at first because I am still a little mad that you've basically been black-listing me for the last six years."_

"_Noted." And then I kiss him again, because why the fuck not?_

* * *

"They're kissing again. I never really understood the fascination that guys have with the whole girl-on-girl thin, but if it's anything like guy-on-guy, I think I'm starting to understand."

"About fucking time. I thought I was going to choke on all the damn sexual tension between them. If they start fucking though, I'm so Youtubing that shit."

"We should let them have a few more moments—I'm sure they have a lot to catch up on. And Gilbert, I feel compelled to tell you that as an eighteen year old, if you film and post porn of a minor on the internet, which Alfred certainly is, it's considered a felony and you'll be labeled a sex offender for the rest of your life."

"…good to know."

* * *

A little bit later (try an hour or so, but who's counting really?), Arthur found himself sitting in a circle beside Alfred, the other three rejoined and looking distinctly more relaxed. Kiku is on the opposite side of Alfred and Gilbert is on Arthur's other side—Elizaveta is across from Gilbert, her legs fully stretched out and almost touching Gilbert's feet. Arthur knew that they could tell he and Alfred were something more than what they'd been before they'd gone off to smoke, but surprisingly, they were relatively mum on the subject. Elizaveta smirked at how close his and Alfred's hands were to touching, but hadn't said anything; Kiku didn't seem to care and Gilbert was calmer now that he'd smoked so even he didn't say anything. Arthur wasn't about to bite at the hand that fed him, so he settled a little more relaxed and let his shoulder nudge up against Alfred's.

They were playing some kind of truth game, and if Arthur had stumbled onto this scene earlier that day, he'd have assumed that they were all close friends. He didn't know what they were exactly, but friends didn't seem right and neither did strangers. As silly as it sounded, being cooped up together and forced to interact without any cell phones or pretenses, they'd transcended normal social rules and had developed something new between all of them. He couldn't say he liked everyone (because he didn't and sometimes he didn't like himself all that much either), but he still found himself caring about them, if only a little. It was strange and new and completely mad, but Arthur wasn't questioning it. Sometimes, when things happened, the only course of action was to accept what life was handing you—it wasn't an easy thing to always do, but Arthur thought maybe it was about time he started trying.

"What would you do for a million dollars?" Elizaveta was asking Kiku and her smile was honest.

"As little as I had to, I suppose," Kiku responded with, a small, clever grin on his face.

Elizaveta huffed and sat up a little straighter. "Well, that was boring. The idea is to search your mind for the absolute limit! Like, all right take me for instance. For a million dollars I'd eat a bowl full of worms."

"Ugh, gross, man!" Alfred's face screwed up in a grimace and while Arthur agreed with him, he also knew that Alfred was speaking from experience. A seven year old could be convinced to eat all sorts of odd things if he was bribed with the promise of a Batman marathon. Alfred glared at him from the corner of his eye and Arthur couldn't stop the soft snort of laughter that came out.

"Sacrifices have to be made for a million dollar wardrobe, Alfred. What about you, what you'd do for a million dollars?"

Alfred shrugged. "I don't know. I kinda like Kiku's approach. But if we're playing the game, I guess I'd do embarrassing crap if I had to."

"Well, would you come to school naked?" Elizaveta asked with a sly grin (which was mostly directed at Arthur).

"Take it from a guy who has done the whole streaking thing at school, that's not as embarrassing as you'd think, just dangerous." Gilbert snorted and played with Arthur's lighter (which Arthur had not given him, the thieving bastard). "I wouldn't recommend it, Jones. When security tackled me, I was concerned about my crown jewels ever working again."

Alfred laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."

Silence fell over the group for a little until Gilbert smirked and looked around at everyone. "Well, since we're on topic and we're playing this adorable truth game that makes me feel like soon I'm going to have start braiding your hair Honda, anybody feel like sharing how they got landed in detention? It's not really fair that you all know what I did to get here. Come on guys, story time!"

Arthur felt Alfred tense against him and he glanced over; his entire posture had stiffened and his eyes were shuttered and shamed. Arthur truly didn't know what Alfred had done to get here, and he'd mostly been assuming when he'd lobbied his sharper insults at him earlier, but now he was wondering if maybe he'd been closer to the mark than he'd thought. Whatever Alfred had done—he was guilty he'd done it. He was ashamed he'd done it. Alfred caught his look and gave him a half-hearted shrug before pulling back his arm and turning enough so that there was distance between them again. Arthur felt disappointment bubble up in his chest and he narrowed his eyes at him before grinning at everyone else.

"We should share."

Elizaveta twirled her hair and shrugged. "Mine isn't even anything all that impressive and you already know most of it. I cut school, my last study period so it wasn't like I was even missing anything, to shop for prom decorations. The fabric store was having a sale—I was completely and utterly over-punished."

"Prom decorations? Really? Jesus, princess, that is so fucking lame it's hilarious," Gilbert laughed. Alfred was glaring at Arthur and Arthur raised his brow at him, silently challenging him to come clean with whatever he'd done. He'd spent most of the day convincing Arthur that he wasn't the asshole Arthur had made him out to be. He needed to come clean with what he'd done in order for _Alfred_ to believe it now.

"I told Germania I shouldn't have been here—too late now, but at least the day wasn't a complete waste," Elizaveta huffed. Alfred shook his head; his eyes were softer now, more pleading. Arthur reached over, as furtively as he could while Elizaveta and Gilbert bickered back and forth in what was quickly becoming their flirtatious banter, and squeezed Alfred's hand. They stared at each other until Alfred's shoulders slumped forward and he nodded, his eyes downcast and looking anywhere but at Arthur.

"What I did to earn detention—I did because of my pride." Arthur looked over at Kiku, along with everyone else. Alfred's eyes widened knowingly, and Arthur got the feeling that whatever Alfred had done had been because of pride too. Kiku smiled a little helplessly at all of them before he started talking to his hands, soft but strong words that for once, held everyone's attention. "I—before today, I considered myself the smartest student at the academy. My parents, they had me tested when I was younger and showed a higher aptitude for science and determined that I was advanced for my age, not really a prodigy, though my parents liked to believe so. I wanted to make them proud so I sacrificed many things to ensure my grades were perfect. And, up until this semester, that method worked."

Kiku shifted a little so that his knees were drawn up close to his chest. "I took so many advanced courses the past couple years that I didn't need to have such a strict schedule this semester. So, I signed up for an elective course I thought would be simple, a cushion class to help strengthen my grade point average. I signed up for Automotives."

"Why did you think learning about cars would be easy?" Gilbert asked. His voice was a little harder than it had been during their share-circle game. "Wait, I know the answer to this! You thought it'd be easy because of the people who take that class, right?"

Kiku met Gilbert's harsh stare impassively before he nodded. "Yes, I assumed that due to the caliber of students taking Automotives and my own understanding of computer machinery, it was a soft class. Obviously, my incorrect assumption backfired because I quickly realized I knew nothing about the machinery that goes into the make-up of a car and I've been failing the class since September."

He took a deep breath and broke his gaze from Gilbert's judging stare—Arthur couldn't really blame him though; Gilbert took Automotives and was good at it. Hell, Arthur had taken Automotives as a way to learn about basic car maintenance since his father was gone and Liam sure as fuck wasn't going to do it. There were people in that class that were failing most traditional courses like Math and English and who smoked or dressed rebelliously—everyone made assumptions about them, but that didn't mean they were brainless. Kiku closed his eyes and took another steadying breath before he continued.

"After I failed the first project, and the one after that where we had to make sure the headlamps were all properly wired, I knew I wasn't going to pass that class—I've never had below a B+ in my life. I couldn't have it and…and I knew my parents couldn't either. So, I broke into the front office last week and hacked into the grading systems. I changed the grades I had and assumed that the teacher wouldn't notice, that he wouldn't care. But, he did, on both counts—I have never been more ashamed of myself in my life. Not for the grade, but for the obsessive pride I had to be the best. To be better than you, Arthur." Kiku met Arthur's eyes and Arthur felt a flare of irritation in his belly.

"And why did you have to be better than me? Because the thought of someone like me being valedictorian made you and everyone else at this school go into a tizzy?"

Kiku shook his head. "No—because of what my parents would say if you were first and I wasn't."

Arthur stared at Kiku before he snorted and rolled his eyes. "I don't think anyone at this school is going to be naming me anything, no matter the grades I have, so I think you and your perfection-infatuated family will be fine."

"Arthur…" Alfred trailed off, like he wanted to tell him to stop being a dick, but knew Arthur wouldn't listen.

"I—my parents managed to talk the headmistress into giving me detention and assigning me a tutor in the class instead of suspension, but they still—I had never felt like we had anything in common at that point, but after that, I did. Because that sort of attitude is something you deal with every day—I've spent so much of my life being obsessed with being perfect I thought it was what I wanted. But, I don't think I do anymore—I think that, whatever else this detention as supposed to teach me, I found that answer."

He trailed off and looked back down at his hands. They were silent until, predictably, Gilbert broke that silence. "Well, if being stuck in here all day turned you from a snot-nosed, elitist, goody-two-shoes to an actual ok guy, maybe our illustrious Lady Helena hasn't completely lost her mind yet."

Kiku's head shot up and he looked at Gilbert as if he couldn't believe he was actually extending an olive branch; frankly, Arthur was surprised too. Gilbert titled his head back and smiled at Kiku (an actual honest to Christ smile). "What? I can be friendly. Just have to not be such an ass first."

They all chuckled a little at the mood breaker and Kiku looked lighter than he'd been before. Alfred tensed beside him, but Arthur could tell that he was going to go next, which suited Arthur just fine. "So, um, my turn I guess?"

Elizaveta shrugged, but smiled encouragingly. "If you want to Alfred."

"Yeah, not really on the wanting to because I did something pretty shitty to land here but—but I probably need to talk about it, you know, get it out." Alfred took a deep breath and settled a little closer back towards Arthur, an unconscious motion that made some of Arthur's irritation fade away. "So I—I haven't really been like 'out' at the school, that I'm bi I mean, but the school's got a pretty good anti-harassment policy and my folks and stuff already knew so I figured, what the hell? I told some of the guys on the team and it wasn't a huge deal for the most part. I think some of them thought it was weird, but they didn't say anything so—so I didn't think about it. I should have but—Ivan Braginski and I have like hated each other since middle school. He's just, he's an ass and he thinks I'm the same, but we fake it that we're cool because we're both on first string and coach is always going on about how we gotta respect each other and shit.

"Braginski was giving me shit after I told the guys, nothing really noticeable, you know, but I knew what he meant, what he was really saying. I ignored a lot of it but, one day, he was just—I snapped back something about how just because I liked guys too I wasn't a pussy or anything. And he asked if would prove it and…I said I would." Alfred took another deep breath and Arthur rested has hand against Alfred's lower back because he was visibly shaking. "After our last game, after the coach had left and given us our 'good job' speech, Braginski asked if I was ready to prove to the team that I wasn't a pansy, that I was still able to lead the team and shit. I said I would always be ready and he—he brought in Feliciano Vargas." Alfred paused and took a deep, shuddering breath—he wasn't meeting anyone's eyes.

"Feli, he's—he's pretty flamboyant and has never really been able to hide that he's gay and stuff; he knew about me because our parents went to the same PFLAG group meeting. Braginski told me that if I couldn't 'beat up a little pissy fag like Vargas' then I wasn't man enough to be on the team and I—so I did."

"That was you? I thought Braginski got suspended for that?" Gilbert asked, alert and any trace of humor gone from his face. Arthur didn't stop stroking Alfred's back, especially when Alfred started to tear up and cover half of his face with his fist.

"He-he did for instigating it and 'coercing' me but I—I was still the one—Feli didn't say anything?"

Gilbert shook his head. "No, he didn't. Wow that's—a kick in the fucking balls. I thought you could do some shitty thing, Jones, but honestly, I gotta say, you surprised me."

Alfred hiccupped and he didn't disagree with Gilbert. "I don't even know why I cared what the fuck Braginski thought of me, why I cared that he thought I was weak and was trying to prove it to everyone—and the worst part was that, after, after the team had laughed and left the locker room, fucking congratulating me for doing that to another fucking person, Feli looked up and told me he didn't hate me. And I don't know why or how he could say that—I had just given him a bloody nose and a fat lip and he was fucking telling me it was all right, that he understood, that it was hard and he didn't blame me for—he wasn't even going to fucking tell the headmistress that it had been me, I did that. And I just—I pretty much hate myself for it, for what I did."

The quiet that settled over them after Alfred finished was suffocating. No one knew what to say, what they even could say, Gilbert was still processing and was probably about a minute away from a full-out rage fest, and Alfred was still trying to hide the fact that his shoulders were shaking because he was crying. Arthur could admit, that was an incredibly terrible thing to do and he was surprised that Alfred had only ended up in detention, but Arthur would be a hypocrite if he held this over Alfred's head when he'd done similar, if not worse, things himself. And Alfred had mentioned earlier, that sometimes he hated being popular, being on the football team and having to deal with 'friends' that would encourage him to beat someone else up for being different. Arthur wondered how long Alfred had been drowning in that toxic group; he frowned and shifted so that he was kneeling and he drug Alfred's fist away from his tear-stained face.

"I want you to listen very carefully to me, Alfred. Yes, what you did to Feliciano was despicable and cowardly and you _knew_ better, but I know for a fact that all of us here? We've fucked up and done shit like that too—it's certainly no reason to hate yourself or think that you're that much worse of a human being. You're allowed to make mistakes, even poor ones, because it's not the mistake that defines you, it's what you do after that does." He was probably holding Alfred's hand a little too hard in his own, but Alfred was blinking up at him, his eyes bluer than usual because of the moisture gathering there. He was listening through all of his own disappointment and self-loathing and was hearing Arthur and what he had to say. And, after some admittedly intense staring, Alfred nodded and dipped his head to rest against Arthur's sternum; Arthur didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around Alfred's shoulders and let him just rest there.

No one said anything for a little while, until Gilbert grunted and fixed Arthur (well, probably Alfred but as Alfred's head was hidden, he settled for Arthur) with a glare. "You're right, we're all basically fuck-ups at one point in our lives, but Feli deserves a fucking apology. He covered for you and didn't deserve that kind of shit from you, Jones."

"And he'll get one, Gilbert. But for now, drop it. He told you why he was here; he doesn't need to give you anything else right now." Arthur stared down Gilbert until, reluctantly, he nodded and settled back against the pillar. Elizaveta shot Alfred a sympathetic look before she stretched the last bit to rub her bare foot against Gilbert's leg soothingly.

"Alfred, Arthur is right—you shouldn't hate yourself. None of us here do. Do we?" Kiku looked around at the rest of them (which Arthur thought was redundant because he was holding the bloody guy, wasn't he?).

"No, Alfred, we don't," Elizaveta said softly. She kicked Gilbert's leg when he didn't respond right away and he glared at her.

"Jesus, quit kicking me, princess! Fine, I don't hate you, Jones. I'm fucking pissed and want to hit you, but I don't hate you for having a moment of douche-ness."

Alfred took a deep breath and nodded before untangling himself from Arthur. His eyes were red, but they were dry at least, and he gave them all a wan smile before settling back against the shelves; he kept a hold on Arthur's hand. "Thanks."

They settled back into silence for another few minutes before Elizaveta took a deep breath and looked at Arthur. "So, you're the only one who hasn't fessed up yet, Arthur. What did you do to get stuck here?"

Arthur smirked at her and rolled his eyes upwards towards the ceiling. "Nothing."

She blinked and leaned forward a little. "I'm sorry, nothing?"

"Did I stutter?"

"Gonna have to explain that a little bit, Kirkland." Gilbert was leaning forward too and looked like he was waiting for Arthur to come clean and fess up that he had car-condomed Germania's car or something. Kiku was also looking at him in confusion and Alfred had honest-to-God tilted his head like a bloody puppy as he was trying to work out Arthur's words.

He laughed and shook his head before grinning at all of them. "I mean I did nothing. I didn't do anything to land here—Germania is a pisser who doesn't like getting proved wrong in front of students in history and thus, here I am."

"So, you're here and you didn't even do anything to land here?" Arthur angled his head down and pressed a kiss to the confusion lines in Alfred's forehead.

"Nothing but be myself, which is too offensive for some adults at this school." Arthur looked around and was wondering what the others were thinking. Did they think he was lying, that he was just trying to get out of saying what he'd 'actually done'? Did they find the fact that Arthur got stuck in detention for nothing funny? Stupid? Maddening? Did they even care at all? Arthur could admit that he'd been pissed when he had initially been assigned to detention and had tried to appeal to the headmistress; but, he knew a losing battle when he saw one and hadn't held much hope she'd side with him over her deputy-headmaster. He wasn't angry anymore, just resigned, but then he'd had a few days to get used to the idea—and it wasn't like this was the first time this had happened either.

They didn't get mad or scoff or pity him. Instead, almost as one, they looked at each other, nodded, and started to clap their hands as they stood up to their feet; Alfred pulled him up when he stared at them like they'd all gone mad. "What the hell are you all doing?"

"Slow-clapping you, what the fuck does it look like?" Gilbert raised his brow at him.

"Yes, I can see that, but why the fuck are you clapping?" Arthur wanted to be annoyed, but he found himself smiling a little at how ridiculous they all were.

"Well, we're clapping because you've been stuck with us 'hooligans' all day when you did absolutely nothing wrong to get here," Elizaveta started with a teasing smirk.

"And you haven't once tried to set anything on fire in protest," Alfred grinned (if a little wanly still) at him, looking less beat up than he had a few minutes ago.

"And, I think you actually helped us learn what the headmistress wanted us to learn." Everyone looked at Kiku like he'd grown another head, but he just shrugged and smiled secretively. "Or, as Alfred stated, you didn't set anything on fire in protest, which is more than perhaps any of us could say if our situations were reversed."

"You're like detention-Jesus, Kirkland, bearing your 'punishment' all silent and shit—now let us fucking clap and then we can all fucking laugh over how hilarious it is that you didn't try to sneak out of here once." Gilbert grinned, showing all of his teeth not unlike a shark, and Arthur shrugged and let them carry on.

And if after, they all laughed so hard they may have cried (or 'pissed myself a little,' in Gilbert's case), well, then that could just be their secret, couldn't it?

TBC...

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Reviews are always appreciated!


	8. Scene Eight

Fic: Think We Are (8/8)  
Genre: humor, angst of the teenage variety, pining, the usual High School Tropes  
Pairings: USUK, Prussia/Hungary, Japan/Taiwan (brief)  
Rating: M  
Warnings:Language to the max, sex/crude language, potentially offensive POVs and nicknames, past character deaths (noncanon), bullying, brief 'slut shaming,' passing mentions of drug abuse, and teenagers(because they need their own warning).  
Summary:We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did *was* we think you're crazy to make an essay telling you who we **think we are**. You see us as you want to see us...

Note:IT'S DONE! More notes at the end.

* * *

Think We Are

Scene Eight

"_Dear Mr. Vernon…." – _Brian Johnson, _The Breakfast Club_ (1985)

"So, what happens on Monday?"

It was nearly four, which meant that detention only had a little bit left to go. All of their essays were lying face down on their desks, waiting for Germania to read them whenever they left. They'd all basically said the same thing, but they their own flavor so they didn't sound like they had forced Kiku to write them (though he had offered—they'd thrown paper-balls at him). Four pairs of eyes swung over to look at Kiku and he tried to not shrink under their scrutiny—he may have had the sort of life-affirming day most people only experienced once if they were lucky, but he was still Kiku Honda, nerd extraordinaire and prone to dislike so much attention on him. Elizaveta was sitting on the railing of the handicap ramp, her things all gathered up and resting across her lap; Gilbert was resting against the railings next to her, humming something that sounded like metal-rock and air-guitaring. Arthur and Alfred were sitting close together at one of the tables and looked like they had been in deep conversation. Kiku felt bad for interrupting them (Alfred's eyes were still red from his confession earlier, but he looked less troubled).

"You mean, what do we go back to once school starts?" Elizaveta asked.

Kiku nodded. "Yes. Are we still friends or does that end once we leave the library?"

He wished asking the question didn't leave him as anxious as it did, but he really hoped that whatever sort of feeling or after-school magic that had settled over them wouldn't be wiped away the moment the first warning bell rang Monday morning. He feared that if it did go away, then it wouldn't be long before he reverted back to his old self, the Kiku who wasn't brave enough to do what he wanted and couldn't live with a mistake or failure. Gilbert scoffed but stopped playing his one-man band and shot Kiku an incredulous look.

"You actually want to be friends with us, Honda? A bunch of fuck-ups with a whole mess of issues and meanness that make it a habit to lash out at the first available target?"

"Well, seeing as I'm just as fucked as the rest of you, yes," Kiku shrugged. "I consider you my friends, but if this won't continue after we leave detention, I'd rather know now and save myself an embarrassment Monday."

"Honestly?" Elizaveta asked. Kiku nodded and she took a deep breath. "I don't know. Maybe but—but school is different than this and association amongst cliques isn't usually—I don't know the answer to that yet, Kiku, and I'm really sorry. I know that makes me a bitch but—"

"Yeah, it really does, princess." Gilbert glared at Elizaveta.

"—but that's the best answer I can give."

Kiku nodded and gave her a small, grateful smile; that wasn't the answer he wanted, but he appreciated she told him the truth. And, to be honest, he had been expecting that response from her anyway. She reached out to try and touch Gilbert's shoulder, but he moved down the rail and shot her an ugly look; the way her face crumpled into a frown at the gesture made Kiku want to say something, but he didn't know what to say.

"Well, I don't really have friends, but if you want to be associated with the school nut-job, knock yourself out, Honda. I won't mind—you can actually help me figure out which of my future pranks are kosher and which will land me in jail." Gilbert grinned at him and Kiku nodded back, a small smile on his lips.

"Kiku, dude, I know that I've been too caught up in the jock shit lately but—but you'll always be one of my best friends." Alfred got up from his seat and headed over to Kiku until he could give him a hug; Kiku stiffened in Alfred's hold for a moment, completely unsure what he was supposed to do, before he relaxed and returned the hug. Alfred pulled back and the wide smile he gave Kiku made him feel ridiculously warm. "I think I'm going to take your advice, guys, and hang out with people I actually like, instead of dicks who convince me to do stupid shit."

"While I don't think your parents will be all too thrilled if you began spending time with me, I certainly wouldn't mind the company of someone who doesn't think I'm going to end up a drunk in the next five years." Kiku nodded at Arthur's words; he hadn't expected Arthur to want to talk to him after detention after what had happened during their confessionals. Arthur nodded back before Alfred gathered him up in a big hug too.

"Thank you—and Elizaveta, I understand what you meant. If you ever change your mind though, just know I'll be there." She nodded, still looking small and conflicted and Kiku settled back against his table, a content smile drifting across his face. He gave a secret thanks that he had failed Automotives because without that, he would have never ended up here, with a group of people who were the best sort of friends anyone could ask for. If he got them in exchange for a drop in his class standing, well, that seemed like a small price to pay.

* * *

_A Future of Kiku_

_In the end, Kiku won't be the class Valedictorian. He won't even be the Salutatorian. And he'll be happy with that (and so will his parents, eventually—sometimes parents take longer to accept who their child will be and not what they want their child to be)._

_He'll go to college overseas on scholarship for his advanced scores in computer science and eventually he return to his hometown (city more like by that point) and he'll marry a lovely software developer who hadn't gone to Hetalia Academy but could still talk circles around Kiku when discussing most academic topics. He'll love that she's smarter than him in all the ways that count. _

_He'll stay in touch with Alfred the best out of everyone. And by keeping in touch with Alfred, he'll also keep in touch with Arthur (most of the time—those two'll have some bumps along the way). And even though sometimes he will get sad about losing touch with Elizaveta and Gilbert, every time he meets up with his friends for happy hour or for a child's birthday party or just because, he 'll remember them fondly because without them, without all of them, Kiku wouldn't have the friends he has now. His life wouldn't be as rich and he wouldn't be as happy. _

_He'll always remember and hold them in his heart for that._

* * *

"_We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong…"_

* * *

"Did you mean what you said? To Honda? Because I gotta say, princess, I thought we'd come a lot farther than that on you today." Gilbert was mad, and it was fucking stupid that he was mad because he shouldn't give a rat's ass about anything Elizaveta said or thought. He'd wanted to hook up with her and he did that—but she was still under his skin and pissing him off. She had gathered up her crap and moved away from the rest of them after Kiku's little emotional 'be my friend' thing, and Gilbert had followed her and dragged her behind a bookshelf because—well because he had. He wasn't about to admit, even to himself, that he'd done that so the others wouldn't see Elizaveta get upset (or worse, see him get upset because she just _did_ shit to him).

"I meant that I don't know what I'll do on Monday. And that's the truth—I'm not a good person like Kiku or Alfred, all right? I didn't have some kind of life-affirming self-realization in detention today that made me want to stop being the queen bee at this school because guess what Gilbert? I like it. I may not always like the things I do or the people I'm with, but I happen to like being admired, if slightly feared, by this school." Her eyes looked watery but she didn't cry. Gilbert hated crying so he was grateful for that.

"Fine, be popular. Don't think that I'll be as accommodating as Honda if you come crawling back, looking to tap some of this." He smiled lewdly his words were sharp as they attacked Elizaveta. She sniffed and shook her head at him as she grabbed his hand—fuck, if her hand wasn't all warm and fit fucking perfect in his palm. Dammit. God-fucking-dammit.

"Gil, I—" Nope. Not happening.

"Save it, tits. Not interested in your little pity-party or—"

"Dammit, Gilbert! You're so willing to forgive Alfred for what he did to Feliciano and to give him a chance to figure things out before you cut him off, why can't you do that for me? Why do I need to make every decision about you and this stupid detention and everyone else right now? Why can't you give me a chance to figure out what I feel or who I am before writing me off because _you_ don't want to admit that you feel something for me and that is might scare you?" She had backed him up into the shelves somewhere during her rant and her face was nearly red as she shouted at him—she looked fucking beautiful like that.

He didn't really know who moved first, but they were kissing again and her boobs were pressing up hard against his chest and her hair smelled like fucking lilacs or something that he shouldn't find intoxicating but did. She was right (because she would always be fucking right)—the thing between them was intense and hot and it made Gilbert want to fight for Elizaveta and those were all things he'd never felt with anyone before. And it did scare him, the way not knowing if his brother would one day give up on him for being a screw-up scared him. His hands reached up and cradled her face as their lips broke apart from each other and he glared down at her.

"Fine—you get one fucking chance, princess. Don't fuck it up." The words were hissed out of him but they weren't nearly as mean as he would've liked them to be. Instead, they sounded a shade closer to desperate and pleading; she lit up with a smile then, this time her watery eyes spilling over a little and onto the side of his hands. She nodded and rose back up to her toes to kiss him again, whispering her promises against his lips and into his lungs—and fuck it all, if Gilbert didn't believe her.

* * *

_A Future of Gilbert_

_Gilbert and Elizaveta will fizzle out at the end of their senior year—a lot of it is because she moves to California for school and they know they won't work as a long-distant thing. _

_Gilbert graduates high school, but never ends up going to college. He moves to Boston and apprentices at a mechanics while he waits for his brother to show up the next year. Ludwig will get into MIT and live with Gilbert while going to school._

_Gilbert will take a lot of pictures. He won't really meant to start, but once he does, he'll find that he isn't half bad at it and even likes taking pictures. Ludwig will get him a gig at MIT's newsletter as a photographer and eventually, after a shit ton of blood, sweat, tears and emotional breakdowns, Gilbert's work gets noticed and then he'll be in a showcase of up and coming photographers. He'll never see his brother (or his parents) so proud of him and he's lying to you if he says he doesn't like it._

_His head will calm down when he's taking pictures and the fact that people pay obscene amount of money for his shit is just a bonus. He'll end up paying for some of Ludwig's school shit and even help him apply for grad school once he's got his shiny diploma from MIT. He'll move into a loft in downtown New York and ends up working for some high end fashion magazines because apparently his name is a big deal and fashion editors are looking to sell their first-born kid to get him for their shoots. And hell, if there isn't a better job than taking pictures of beautiful, half naked women all day. _

_One day, Gilbert will go to work on an editorial fashion shoot for Vogue (and it'll kill him sometimes that he knows what the fuck an editorial fashion shoot is) and while he's waiting for the models to get primped, he sees her. _

_She'll be dressed to kill in a charcoal grey suit with a skirt that shows off her legs in a way that should be illegal. She'll be barking orders to a couple of frightened chippies that look like interns and her lips will be bright red. Her hair will be shorter than he remembers, but when he gets closer, it'll still smell like lilacs. Her boobs will still be the best pair of tits he's ever seen._

"_Hiya, princess."_

_She'll turn and stare at him like she's seen a ghost, then, it'll be like the fucking Notebook and she'll drop the shit in her hands and leap up, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and kissing him like she's trying to crawl inside his mouth. He'll kiss her back like he hasn't seen her in years, which will be the truth._

_Later, he'll call up Honda, Jones, and Kirkland (after begging Ludwig to hack into their old high school's alumni records), and tell them how funny it is when life works out and he expects all of them to fucking be there in Vegas when he and Liz get hitched._

* * *

"_What we did *was* wrong. But we think you're crazy to make an essay telling you who we think we are."_

* * *

"So, we're not going to spontaneously break-up on Monday, are we?" Alfred felt stupid asking it, but Kiku's question to them, and Elizaveta's subsequent rejection, worried him. Arthur looked at him and rolled his eyes before he leaned over and kissed Alfred. Kissing was basically the most awesome thing in the history of ever, he'd decided. If he could spend the rest of forever kissing (ok, and eating and possibly in the near future having sex), he was pretty sure that would be a kickass life. He smiled into the kiss and kept grinning goofily at Arthur when they pulled away. "I'll take that as a no."

Arthur smirked and shook his head, his shoulders shaking a little with barely contained giggles (that was the 'giggle shake'—not that Alfred was going to accuse Arthur of giggling because he wasn't suicidal). Alfred grabbed a hold of Arthur's hand and fiddled with his fingers a bit while they all waited for Germania to tell them they were free to go. Kiku was working on his essay a little (they had all finished an hour ago but Kiku was still Kiku and was proofing his) and Gilbert and Elizaveta had disappeared into the library shelves. They'd been yelling pretty loudly earlier but now it was disturbingly quiet. Alfred really hope they weren't defiling the encyclopedia section or anything. Arthur was sitting beside Alfred but they were sitting so close together that they might as well have been in the same seat. Alfred couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that happy and free.

If you had asked Alfred at seven that morning if he was going to find friendship, love, and redemption all during Saturday detention, he probably would've laughed and thought the ubiquitous you (and again with the vocab words—people really needed to stop assuming he was crap at English) had gone nuts. But that had been what happened. Alfred wasn't even sure how they all ended up where they were now when that morning they'd been stiff and mean and staring straight ahead as much as possible. The romantic side of Alfred wanted to say that Arthur had changed a lot of them just by antagonizing them, but Alfred knew that wasn't it. Arthur was too wrapped up in his own issues to start trying to help any of them with theirs (though Gilbert probably did have a point with the whole detention-Jesus thing). It had just…happened. Kind of like how you ended up growing up without really realizing it until it had already happened.

Alfred wasn't dumb though—he knew one day wasn't going to magically change any of them. They were all still pretty mean and petty and messed up and the underlying issues that made them that way hadn't been fixed. But, they'd made a start on it—it was kind of up to them what they wanted to do from there and while Alfred couldn't speak for everyone, he could speak for himself and he was going to take that start and move forward. He didn't want to look back on his teenage years when he was old and only remember how he had humiliated Feliciano Vargas to look cool, or how he had surrounded himself with mostly fake friends and fake girlfriends or boyfriends, or how his parents would look at him and wonder where they went wrong.

What he did want was to remember winning football MVP as a junior and repeating it again as a senior. He wanted to remember acing that physics AP test and getting a full ride to wherever he wanted to go to college. He wanted to remember hanging out with Kiku and geeking out over the new Star Wars movies and about what anime they thought was awesome. He wanted to remember going to prom and actually enjoying himself, not just going because he had to. He wanted to remember rediscovering Arthur Kirkland and finding out that he was still a little bit in love with him (and probably always would be, no matter what happened). He wanted to remember how it was during a Saturday detention he found himself and decided to change everything for the better.

"We're going to be okay, aren't we? Even with all of our crap and you graduating and stuff…" Alfred trailed off. He wasn't really looking for an answer; he felt like he had one already and just wanted to see if Arthur had one too.

Arthur looked at him, all soft and warm and Alfred smiled because he knew he had his answer.

* * *

_A Future of Alfred_

_Alfred's senior year will be rough, and he'll know it from the moment Arthur graduates and starts planning his move to Georgetown. But it also won't be as rough as he thought it would. _

_He'll graduate with honors and will be elected as the class speaker at graduation. A lot of the reason why will be because he spends most of his senior year promoting and creating an LGBT group and awareness project on campus and it gets some national attention, especially when he comes clean and admits to everyone why he starts everything. Feliciano'll hold his hand through the interview and Arthur will call him after to tell him how proud he is of Alfred and how much he loves him. That'll end up meaning a lot because he and Arthur won't be together during that stretch of six months because it'll be really hard to be with someone when they're not there and they are going to fuck things up. They'll end up getting back together not to soon after though and Arthur will be sitting with his parents at graduation, nothing but smiles and happiness on his face._

_Alfred will end up getting really interested in going into medicine so he'll wind up going to med school in Arizona. Arthur'll travel with him because by that point, he'll be graduated with his masters in journalism and free-lancing for an online magazine. They'll fight a lot that first year of med school and then decide to get married in Vegas (which will then become something of a joke when Gilbert calls them a few years later to tell them about Elizaveta). Alfred will do his residency in Washington and they'll almost call it quits that first year too, but they'll be too stubborn and love each other to give up._

_They'll settle in Denver, which will be a surprise to both of them, but they'll love it (even if that first winter nearly kills them both). Alfred becomes a pediatrician and when he looks back on his life when he's old and retired, with Arthur still by his side, he'll smile because he'll remember everything he wanted to and nothing he didn't._

* * *

"_You see us as you want to see us... In the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions."_

* * *

Elizaveta didn't like Gilbert because he was the 'bad boy' or because she thought being with him would piss her parents off (though it would, and that's not a bad bonus). She liked him because he made her feel like she's worth something besides her looks and good social graces. She liked him because he didn't let her get away with anything, and Elizaveta could admit that she was the sort of person who took everything she could get. She liked him because when she'd told everyone her sob story about her and Roderich, he was the only one who hadn't given her pity. He'd very simply told her that she was worth ten of him and she shouldn't have even bothered being upset, because as far as he saw it Roderich was the one who missed out, not her. He told her the truth, and that was a commodity she didn't take for granted.

When Elizaveta had been little, she'd constantly been told how pretty she was or how adorable she was or how cute she would look in this dress. Now, every girl wanted to hear that she's pretty and she did too—but she found if that was all she heard, just that she was pretty, it became harder and harder to find worth in herself beyond what she looked like. She'd been a smart kid though and knew she was just as smart as she was pretty, but when she'd weighed the pros and cons of each, she'd determined that being pretty was more important than being smart, so she hid that piece of herself from everyone. It had worked out pretty well for most of her life. At least, until today it had worked.

She knew telling Kiku she didn't know if come Monday she'd wave hello back to him or insult him showed how ugly she really was sometimes. But she really didn't know what she'd do and she had a feeling she wouldn't know until they came across each other at school—that went for everyone. Maybe even Gilbert. And what did that say about her, that she was willing to ignore a guy she was genuinely coming to really like all in order to be popular and in control? She had a few choice words and she knew the others did too, even if they weren't saying anything.

"You're thinking too loud." She blinked and looked up at Gilbert. They had put the brakes on kissing a little bit ago and now she was resting against his chest, playing with his fingers while she'd been lost in thought and he had rambled about ideas for the senior prank that year. "Don't want to blow a fuse or anything."

She smacked his arm where it settled across her waist, but she smiled softly because there was real warmth and affection in his eyes—she could even see it behind the weird red of his contacts. "Don't be an ass."

"Well, pay attention and maybe I won't have to be."

She chuckled and settled back against him; when she looked at the others, at Kiku and Gilbert and Alfred and even Arthur, she could see the small ways in which they'd changed being stuck together during detention; she wasn't sure if she could look in the mirror and honestly say she saw a similar change in herself. But, she wanted there to be.

* * *

_A Future of Elizaveta_

_When Monday comes, Elizaveta will avoid everyone because she still won't know what she'll do if she sees them. Even Gilbert. She'll feel awful about it, of course, and will get such little sleep that week that she'll develop little baggies under her eyes. But then, all it will take is one less than kind remark from her 'friend' and she'll make up her mind. She'll seek Kiku out and hug him when she finds him—she'll do the same for Alfred, not for Arthur because they still won't really care for each other, and will kiss the hell out of Gilbert. He will respond enthusiastically and he'll tell her it's about time she made up her damn mind. He won't ever help her with planning for prom, but he will get her a corsage and slow dance all she wants that night._

_They'll end when they graduate and while Elizaveta will cry over this fact for a good few weeks, she finds college in California too thrilling to mourn forever. She'll thrive in college and finally figures out that a girl can be both pretty and smart and there's nothing wrong with it; she will date men who tell her this until it finally starts to stick and she believes it for herself. _

_She won't visit home too much, but her mother will visit her often enough while her parents finally go through with their divorce. The funny thing will be that they all become closer for it, maybe not her parents, but they'll heal their relationship with Elizaveta—when her father remarries, she'll go to the wedding and will honestly be happy for him and happy for her mom, who will be seeing a nice gentleman from her country club. She won't mind that she's there stag—none of the men she's dated are the right fit for her and she'll know it when she finds it. _

_When she graduates with a degree in English and a minor is fashion merchandising, she'll immediately move to New York because she wants be in fashion so bad she dreams about it. She'll slave away as an intern for a few years before she finally makes the jump to Photo Director for Vogue—and it'll be there, during one of her first, big shoots, that she'll hear it._

"_Hiya, princess."_

* * *

"_But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain...and an athlete...and a basket case... ...and a criminal..."_

* * *

When Germania came back in to release them from detention, the look on his face suggested that he expected to find the library destroyed or possibly permanently disfigured. Arthur couldn't help but grin and give him a salute out the door as they each filed out.

He wondered what Germania would feel about their essays. They had each left one on their respective desk, and they had left behind a small piece of themselves along with the essays; it was Arthur's idea, their way of identifying who wrote each essay without marking their names on the sheet. Alongside his were the rest of his cigarettes (he had been thinking about quitting anyway). Gilbert had left the rest of his Cap'n Crunch scattered all over the desk and Elizaveta had left a tube of lipstick with a heart drawn on the corner of her essay. Kiku had left behind a small calculator and Alfred had left a folded and colored paper football by his. He didn't know what Germania was looking to find from their essays, but they were happy with them and that was what really mattered.

Elizaveta's and Kiku's parents were already waiting for them outside—they gave a backwards glance and wave before piling into their respective cars. Gilbert pretended to chase after Elizaveta before he stopped alongside a truck that his brother was driving. Gilbert grinned maniacally at both of them before climbing into the truck-bed and pounding on the roof of the cab. Arthur imagined that Ludwig rolled his eyes at that, but he dutifully started going, shouting up in German at Gilbert as they drove off. Arthur glanced over and he saw the familiar minivan Alfred's mum drove; he could see her peering at the pair of them and he focused back in on Alfred.

"Your ride is here." Alfred glanced over and he waved at his mum.

"Yeah—you got a ride?" Alfred asked but he was already leading Arthur towards his mum's car, his hand warm around Arthur's wrist.

"I believe my brother is likely dead drunk at a bar at this hour on a Saturday." Arthur meant it be a joke, but Alfred frowned at the statement; Arthur immediately regretted saying anything and tried to pull his wrist away. "It's fine, Alfred. I can walk—I'm not that far. I walked this morning."

Alfred shook his head and gripped Arthur's wrist a little tighter until they reached the van. "Nope, don't think so. Mom! Can we give Artie a lift? You remember Artie right?"

Alfred's mum looked at him with only the minimum amount of wariness (Arthur took that as a win) before she smiled kindly at him and nodded. "Of course I remember him, Alfie, don't be silly. You two used to be attached at the hip when you were younger. It's nice to see you Arthur, though I suppose you being in detention with Al could use some improvement."

"Yes ma'am." Alfred gave him a look like he couldn't believe Arthur was actually using manners and he fought the urge to shove him because his mother was right there. Alfred chuckled and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before sliding into the car. Arthur froze and stared, slightly horrified, at Alfred's mum, who had most certainly caught that kiss; Alfred tugged him down into the car and Arthur tried not to meet Mrs. Jones' eyes in the rearview mirror.

"I thought you were supposed to sit and write an essay in detention today." Alfred grinned sheepishly as he caught his mum's knowing and somewhat disapproving look. "I don't remember there being a provision that _canoodling_ was allowed."

"Yeah, it's kind of a long story but pretty much the door to the library got stuck and we kind of had our own mini-therapy session instead—oh, and Arthur and I started dating. Yay us?" Arthur grabbed Alfred's hand from where it was doing hesitant fist pumps and pulled it down, shaking his head because that was not needed at the moment.

Mrs. Jones shot them both an unreadable look before she turned forward and started driving out of the parking lot. "Well, I guess you'll need to start telling that story, Alfred. And Arthur, I hope you like chicken casserole, because you're staying for dinner."

Alfred grinned at his mum and Arthur couldn't help but laugh a little as he started to do as his mom asked, his hand warm and tight around Arthur's the whole ride home.

* * *

_A Future of Arthur_

_Arthur won't become the valedictorian because apparently, attendance plays a part in that determination and Arthur's record is spotty at best. He will, however, be the Salutatorian and he'll give an unconventional speech that will make the headmistress laugh and Germania glower at him. Alfred will be there to see him walk and so will his family—it's possible his brothers were there too, but he won't be looking for them so he doesn't know._

_He will get out and into a good school, Georgetown, and he'll be an undecided major for most of his first two years. He and Alfred will have a huge row about midway through his freshman year, spend a semester apart, and then reunite at Alfred's graduation—after that, they'll never really break up again, though they will threaten to leave in some harrowing last-ditch attempts during their harder years. _

_Arthur will find a calling in working for Georgetown's student run paper—writing has always been something he was good at but he'll find a passion there that had been missing when he'd been younger and angrier at everything. And he'll be good at it, good enough that he gets a few short stories published in a literary magazine that will get him noticed by an up and coming publishing house later on down the road._

_When he's thirty and he and Alfred are living in Denver, Arthur will begin seeing a therapist about what happened to his parents, his relationship with his brothers, and how he felt for most of his teenage years. Sometimes, Alfred will come to those sessions, but mostly, Arthur will battle his past alone and on the hard days, will curl up with Alfred in their bed and wish that his family hadn't been broken apart. Sometimes, on especially hard nights, Alfred will phone his mum and she'll chatter to Arthur until he's calm enough to fall asleep. Arthur will never stop being grateful that he has Alfred and he has Mary, John, and Matthew Jones in his life._

_Mostly, Arthur's life will end up exactly the opposite of how he envisioned it being. And he'll be happier for it._

* * *

"_Does that answer your question? Sincerely yours,"_

_Finis._

* * *

Guys, Thank you SO much for following, reviewing, and favoriting this brain child of mine! I truly appreciate it. As we are at the end of this story, I would love to hear what you thought about the story as a whole, so frop me a line or hit me up at my Tumblr, my handle is osco-blue-fairy .

Cheers until the nect time, lovelies!

Osco


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